The Betrothed
by Lyralamora
Summary: In the seedy underbelly of Treno, thieves and con-men suddenly find themselves under the rule of a new boss. In desperate need of money, and willing to do almost anything to get it, Dagger stumbles into this dark underworld, pulling her comrades with her.
1. The New Game

**A/N: **A couple of things I should mention before you commence on this new story.  
Firstly, the story does take place within the game, but the plot will have little to do with the actual story. I have written with my own plot in mind, not in keeping accurate to the game. This may lead to some faults, which I'm hoping you will overlook.  
Secondly, the story is somewhat inspired by the amazing book series _The_ _Gentleman Bastard Sequence_. It's by no means a crossover, but readers of the series may find similarities.

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy IX is the property of Squaresoft.

THE BETROTHED

Chapter one – The New Game

I

The Fat Qu's Pub was widely known for the best lager, the finest wenches and the most interesting assortment of customers in all of Treno. It also had the steamiest gossip, no rumors ever getting past the beautiful bar-made. When princess-in-hiding Dagger decided to seek out a pub, it went without saying it would have to be the best, no matter what area it excelled at. The Fat Qu's was the obvious choice.

Edging open the door, she was hit full in the face by a thick haze of smoke and all the smells such a place had to offer. The pleasant buzz of chatter filled her ears, at last cancelling out the sound of rain trickling against her hood. She wasn't like Zidane, who could stand in the rain for hours, arms thrust out, a childish grin overtaking his features. He would yell to her "can you imagine anything more amazing then this?"  
As it was, she could imagine a number of things more amazing, or indeed tolerable. Still, she smiled fondly at the memory, pulling off her cloak, shaking off the water.

While Zidane had never been able to cure her resentment to rain, he had taught her a number of other handy tricks. Crossing the room to the counter, she gave her wrist a little twist, feeling the blade of the dagger she'd nudged up her sleeve. One right movement and she would be armed. She couldn't bring her rod, after all, or someone might be tipped of.

Despite the bar's many available tables, every chair at the counter was taken. Edging through the hoard of pickpockets and drunks, shoving them aside, while at the same time trying to look inconspicuous, she reached the counter and the reason for its crowdedness. Dagger felt a slight stab of irritation, eying the bar-made up and down. Zidane had done a good job of understating her beauty when he'd described her. Still, petty worries would have to be put aside now; she had a job to do.

II

It was drizzling slightly, but that was okay. Zidane had always been rather fond of the rain. That was certainly a rare quality, one that Baku had made full use of in his day, sending him out on scouting-duties that everyone else refused blankly. Save the rats of Burmecia, most Terrain creatures felt a natural aversion to rain and water. It was not until he'd discovered his extra-terrestrial origin that this mystery was solved.

Standing on the dark and deserted main street of Treno, the rain caressing his skin, trickling down his hair, he squinted through the darkness and rain. He was leaning casually against a lamppost, trying not to draw too much attention. But even as he stood there, eyeing the few people who actually ventured outside tonight, he knew it wasn't very convincing. Who, after all, would stand casually leaning against a lamppost in the middle of the nigh, soaking wet?

The light above him illuminated the little piece of sidewalk he stood on. But its scarce light only served to create an even denser darkens outside of this little circle of light. Doubt began to seep into him, just like the water. He'd been standing there for nearly two hours now. Alone. And Zidane wasn't good with alone. It got him thinking. Thought's like 'she isn't coming, you idiot,' and 'now we're never going to get that medicine in time, stupid, law-abiding princess.'

Kicking the lamppost, attempting to vent some of his frustration, he only ended up adding to his impressive assortment of bruises. The leather boot hit the metal-pole with a soft squish, water dripping from the leather.

"Nghh… Damn, stupid…"

A passerby sent him an irritated glance at his outburst, but that was really the least of his concerns. The water was picking up now, rendering him thoroughly soaked. Though he didn't really mind a bit of water, the cold had begun creeping into his boot-tips, eating away at his toes. And while the time was trickling steadily away like the rain, she still wasn't there. No gil, dangerously low supplies, one wounded comrade, another one missing and now perhaps a cold. It was bad. Really bad.

This, Zidane fumed, scowling up and down the street, this was precisely why he didn't work well with teams. Sure, he loved the companionship, the vanquishing of evil together. But he had, after all, left the Tantalus on no less than four occasions. He really couldn't stand waiting. It just wasn't his nature.

Just as he'd made up his mind to go through with the plan on his own, someone's snicker could be heard through the rain, just at the fringe of the darkness.

"Dag? Is that you?" he hissed, looking around, trying to defy the shadows, breaking the limitations of his eyesight.

"Yes. Why are you kicking stuff?"

"Why are _you_ two hours late?"

Still grinning, Dagger stepped out of the shade and into the circle of light.

"What? Haven't you been bragging about how you're basically a gizamaluke on land?"

She was wearing her hood and cloak over her usual outfit. A smart move, given the rain that was pouring down in ever greater quantities.

"That wouldn't have been much to brag about, babe. Fish are ugly."

Rolling her eyes in an impressive imitation of Blank, she stepped closer, grabbing his arm.

"Come. No point in standing here anymore."

"Oh, yeah. Cus' that would be really boring. And cold," he huffed, but let himself be dragged along. Actually they couldn't hang about there any longer, even if they did want to. Dagger had been late, and they were already behind in their plans.

She led the way, taking off from the main street, into a smaller alley. They didn't have to walk far before the stately architecture morphed into rundown alleyways and seedy pubs. The raindrops bounded of Dagger's cloak. He had no such luck, his thin shirt plastering to his skin. Clutching his hand, she made a sudden turn, pulling them under an abandoned marquee. Edging in between the barrels and boxes, she pulled her hood back at last.

"So, what news?" he asked.

III

"Pardon…," she called out to the bar-wench, "hey, excuse me…HEY!"

The woman turned, eyeing Dagger with resentment. Still, she couldn't afford to be picky about her customers. Swallowing the urge to give the dark-haired beauty a reprimand for screaming at her, she set up a cheerful, and decidedly fake expression.

"Sorry love, didn't hear you," the woman drawled, her voice thick with accent. "What can I do you for?"

Dagger in turn had to swallow the compulsion to correct the woman's grammar, and went straight to the point.

"I'm looking for a man, Jules. I'm told you know were to find him."

The woman pointed, with a rug-filled hand at a nearly empty table. Three men were crammed around a game of tetra, and there was no knowing which of them she was looking for. Still, she thanked the woman by discreetly sliding some gil over the counter.

"Thanks."

IV

"Not wise. I'd use the oglop card if I were you."

A singsong voice cut through Jules concentration. As if the night wasn't bad enough to begin with. In irritation, bordering on rage, he threw his cards down, looking up to find that the intrusion came in the form of a young woman.

"If you were me, you would be the record-holder for highest tetra-score in all of Treno," he snapped, hoping to send her on her way. Unfortunately he had no such luck.

"Well, not for long. But no matter, I'm not here to discuss card-games. Can I take a seat?"

After a rather painful and financially crippling breakup a few months ago, Jules had sworn of women altogether, if one didn't count the occasional wench he brought to his room for a little nocturnal activity. So, if not for the lady's business-like attitude, he would have sent her on her way. But Jules knew a deal when he saw one. Ever the pragmatic man, he eyed her up and down before he gave an approving, though curt nod.

"Thanks," the woman said brightly, pulling out a chair from a neighboring table, and edging in between Jules and his more sizable chum, Aue. Deciding that enough time had been wasted, Jules picked up his cards to resume the game.

Upon further though, the woman had actually been right about his hand. As his opponent snatched another point, he turned to her, smiling slyly at her apprehending expression.

"Would you mind bringing me another scotch dear?"

Flipping her a coin, not heeding her insulted frown, he was free to change his hand, thus reclaiming his lost point. Next to him, Aue squirmed uncomfortably, making his chair creek in warning. He raised the glass to his lips, swirling the little scotch left around, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at his burly partner.

"That chair is gonna break if you don't sit still."

Aue looked back apprehensively, interpreting it as an invitation to speak.

"You know her? That woman?" he asked, nodding towards the counter where the dark-haired girl was ordering his third drink for the night. It was still early though.

"Does it look like it?"

Card's kept on hitting the table at an almost established rhythm. He claimed two more points before Aue spoke again.

"And you though it wise to just invite her to the table? _Now_," he hissed with a meaningful glance at the table next to them.

"Alright, keep your trap shut," he hissed back. No need for the plan to tank on such a bagatelle as careless speech. "She might bring some valuable information. Besides," Jules added, eyeing the intruder yet again, "how dangerous could she possibly be?"

"I dunno… You never know man…"

Aue's voice trailed away into silence, as the woman progressed back to the table. Maneuvering through the crowd, carefully balancing the brimful glass of liquor, she reached them just as Jules was claiming his opponent's mithril-card as a well-earned price.

"Two out of three?" the man offered, reluctantly withholding his most precious card.

Jules did only need to send Aue a sideways glance, prompting the man to crackle his knuckles in warning. The other man reluctantly handed over his card. Stacking it in his pile before showing the cards into a small leather pouch, he once again bestowed the woman with his attention.

"So, what's your name, babe?"

"Sara."

"Sara huh. Beautiful name." He took a sip, looking her over more carefully. "So, why have you come here to interrupt my game Sara?"

She took a deep breath, seemingly gathering courage to say whatever was on her mind. With one hand tugging at the sleeve of the other, foot tapping rhythmically against the wooden floors, she finally opened her mouth.

"I have a proposition," she began, voice once more business-like. "How would you feel about being included in a new game?"

V

Making contact, that was the easy part. Now she would have to be persuasive. She felt her fingers brush against the dagger's edge without thinking, and quickly jerked her hand away. As expected, the man in front of her deflated slightly, suddenly loosing some of his bravado. His eyes flickered between the man at her other side and the glass in his hands.

"A game?" A pointy tongue flickered out from between his lips. "Where have you been of late? We don't do that anymore. Confidence games are banned."

"Oh, I know."

This was apparently the last thing Jules expected. A straightforward confession of the dangers involved in her proposition. And like Dagger had anticipated, to Jules that turned a proposition into a challenge. Where he would generally have brushed her off, he now at least had to consider it, lest ending up looking like a coward.

"Let me see if I've got this straight. You're planning to pull a confidence game here, in Treno. Even though you know the risks and even though no one has successfully managed to con the nobles for years?"

She nodded in confirmation. "Yes."

"And you are propositioning me to be your partner?"

"Yes."

She flexed her wrist, dagger at the ready. Skepticism amongst thieves was never good. Far too often a misunderstanding turned into … something more. Jules leaned across the table towards her, face uncomfortably close.

"Why?"

"Because I can't do it alone. And neither can you."

"That's true. But I have no intention of breaking the code."

At this she gave a snicker. Utterly fake, of course, but enough to put an expression of trepidation back in Jules' smug face.

"Breaking the code or not, your still deep in trouble if you don't find some way of paying down that gambling debt."

He actually flushed. Though it was hardly visible through the beard and suntanned, leathery skin, there was a decidedly pink tone to his cheeks. She didn't wait for him to come up with an answering scathing remark, but pressed on.

"Look, I already have the job figured out. All you need to do is use some of your contact's and play along for the actual con."

Aue, who had done his job by keeping silent thus far, gave in at last. With another bout of squirming, he finally slammed his fist against the table, calling on everyone's attention.

"And all this while The Dismas is walking about, with his spies everywhere?"

"Oh, don't you worry about him," Dagger scoffed. This was it, this was the tricky part. Hand at the ready, she braced herself, ready to jump up and run at any moment. "He isn't as fearsome as you all seem to thing, The Dismas."

After month of training, Zidane's endless nagging, and evening after evening in different pubs honing her skills, Dagger soon discovered they were still painfully lacking. With the sound of breaking glass, the smell of scotch tugging at her nostrils, she felt her back slam into the table. Air knocked out of her lungs, the world turning just a bit darker, she could hear movements on every side. People were standing up, chairs clattering to the floor as thirty people scrambled for the door all at once. Not one stopped to help her throw this man off.

Though slightly disappointed with people's indifference to her possible demise, she was close to what one would call unflappable. And though it was ever so tempting to slide her dagger into her hand, make a quick stab and then make a run for it, she couldn't. This was the crucial point. Next to her she could hear Aue hiss, "What are you doing? Come on, let's go."

"What? And just leave her? What if she works for _him_?"

So it was Jules pinning her down. She could feel the vibration of his body flush against her when he spoke.

"And if she does? If you kill her, then he'll really be on our back."

"So what do you propose we do?"

Suddenly the weight sifted. There was some struggle, limbs being pressed into her gut, before suddenly she was free.

"Listen," Aue whispered, pushing Jules further back away from her. "If she really is in league with The Dismas, then this is a deal we can't refuse."

Large hands wrapped around her waist before suddenly she was hoisted into the air. The bar came into focus again, though now virtually deserted. The only other people there was Jules, Aue and the bar-wench still cleaning away as if nothing had happened.

"Right then," Jules said, calling her attention back. "Tell us about this new game of yours."

VI

The once sun-yellow marquee, now faded into a light beige colour, actually made fine shelter. Nudged in between the barrels and boxes, Zidane suddenly found himself pressed flush against his partner, only separated by a few layers of soaked clothing. Surprisingly, Dagger didn't seem to mind the lack of personal space. No, it was him that felt uncomfortable. Not that he didn't appreciate the feel of her soft and pliant curves pressed against him from feet to neck. It was rather that he feared he might come to appreciate it a little too much. Or certain parts of him would. This fear did not subside as she began whispering in his ear.

"I went to The Fat Qu's. He was there, Jules."

Lust was momentarily replaced by confusion. The Fat Qu's? Why had she been there? Quickly going over their plan in his head, he couldn't remember anything about a bar stop.

"So that's where you've been for the past hours? At a bar? With _Jules_?"

"Calm down," she hissed, her warm breath caressing his ear. "He's perfect! And I made contact just like you taught me to."

Had there been enough room, Zidane would have jerked back, eyeing her in disbelief. Perhaps even give her a shake for good measure. As it was, all he could do was to slide his hand up her arm, squeezing it in a manner that was more seductive than apprehensive. Her breath, a little fast and shallow, did nothing to lessen this impression.

"Contact? With _Jules_?" his voice was high-pitched in disbelief.

"Yes, with Jules. Will you quit saying his name like that?" she hissed.

He was about to snap back, when a crashing noise further down the alley silenced them both. She really ought to stop walking about like this, Zidane thought furiously. Sure, there were a certain sort of thrill over it at the beginning. But too much had happened now. Too many injured. Watching Dagger put herself through danger after danger, was simply exhausting. Still, there didn't seem to be any danger now. The sounds soon showed themselves to emanate from a couple of drunken nobles that had taken a wrong turn and suddenly ended up rather far from home. Stumbling about, they made their way down the alley, not even noticing the two figures, pressed together underneath the yellow marquee. Dagger breathing steadily still, Zidane could feel his body caving in. Where he'd been frozen moments before, a pleasant, dull warmth began to spread. Her lips, warm and soft and inviting, were only inches away. All he needed to do was to turn his head just a bit. Then that wonderfully warm breath would be trickling across his lips instead. And why shouldn't he be allowed to kiss her exactly? Wasn't she trying to blend in, act like any other girl? Any other girl would have kissed him by now for sure. He began leaning forward, drawing in the cent of her skin. Up close, it was so white, as if she'd barely ever taken a step outside in the sunlight. With the tip of his nose, be brushed lightly up against her cheek, almost accidentally. Her entire body gave away a little shudder, though if it came from her own growing desire or just cold Zidane couldn't be sure. In the end he was the first to break the silence.

"Why?" he asked, voice barely audible.

"Huh?"

"Why were you meeting Jules at a pub?"

"I…" Dagger stuttered, having seemingly lost her train of thought. "I had a proposition to make."

If Zidane had though he couldn't be more confused, she just proved him wrong. He pulled away as far as was possible in the confined space, trying to get a good look at her face. But no smile was playing about her lips. She was absolutely serious.

"What sort of proposition?"

"We need three for a proper confidence game."

"A confide-? Dagger, are you out of your mind?"

He's voice was still little more than a whisper, but the tone was so menacing and disapproving, that she actually flinched. He continued in a slightly softer voice.

"Dag, I've told you this. Confidence games are banned. Seriously, you don't want to get dragged into this."

"I though we needed the money," she said, defensively. "I mean, you said we should do a con-job."

He sighed, pulling her closer again as a small means of comfort. He supposed she meant well, although sometimes that girl could be so naïve.

"Yes, yes we do need the money. And the fastest way would certainly be to pull a game. But… this is a different sort of Treno than the one you're used to Dag. It's changed here now. There's a new Dismas. It's just too dangerous."

Now it was Dagger's turn to fire up. She placed her palms against his chest, shoving him away from her into the hard boxes behind him.

"I'm not as stupid as you all seem to think, Zidane," she spat, body tense with anger. "I listen to what you say, I observe what you do. Don't you think I haven't learned anything?"

Just this incident proved that she really hadn't, but Zidane though it best not to anger the lady further.

"I have a plan," she said insistently. "A new game all planned out."

She managed to somehow look both eager and angry at the same time. The silence stretched out as he waited for her to explain further, rain tapping distractingly at their shelter.

"This game is foolproof, because this game is played with The Dismas himself."

**A/N:** Alright, I know this was all a bit confusing. But I promise, in the next chapter the setting and our heroes situation will be explained. Still, I hope you were able to look past the more bewildering bits, and enjoyed the first chapter of the story.

If you did, or even if you didn't, I'm still dying for some feedback, so you might as well hit the review button and leave a few words.


	2. Interlude

**A/N:** Last chapter was more of a prologue. This interlude will serve to explain the background a little better, and how they come to find themselves in such a situation. The proper story will resume in the third chapter. Hope you don't find the start too slow.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy IX, but love to wallow in this amazing world.

Chapter two – Interlude

I

He knew he should have asked Zidane, and that thought made him slightly guilty. But honestly, understanding though he was, their leader wasn't able to grasp everything. Steiner would probably be mad too… the last thing he wanted was a fight… But he had to say goodbye. One last time.

The patch of trees ran closely to the side of the path. A few hundred meters to the other side, the grassy lawn ended in a steep cliff. And beyond were the mountains. Vivi had used to sit outside the cave and stare at them for hours. At the mountains and mist and airships, and thinking that one day he would be on one of them. Grandfather Quan had promised him.  
The sky was clear now. Free of mist, machines and their toxic gasses. Stars the only thing to light up the sky. It was colder too, without the mist. Yet, who could not appreciate the stars.

He walked along the trail, quickly leaving Treno behind. It had been an easy thing, sneaking away from the others. He would have felt guiltier had they actually noticed. But this would be his very last chance, he suspected. He wasn't as naïve as they all seemed to think. And Freya had confided in him, told him what they were about to do. And the chances of returning from Memorian were minimal. In addition it was quite beautiful outside tonight. He had rarely had a chance to take a walk alone like this after joining the others.

The cave was not that far away, it wouldn't take long. The trail he followed, once frequently used, was greatly diminished. Few walked this way anymore, unless they were collecting a bit of extra gil for the auction by hunting down the fiends on the plain. Grass and weed had begun taking over, twisted roots poking up from the dark earth. He could hear rustling in the darkness, fiends taking cover behind the trees. The red eyes and furry outline of a Fang was visible where it lurked in the shadows. They didn't attack him anymore. He was much too strong now. He didn't attack them either, but walked past and left them alone.

The forest was a small one. All he had to do was to follow the winding path, taking heed not to trip in the unfriendly terrain. The forest was new, the trees young and small. They came to an abrupt halt close to the cave entrance, the path leading out to more open land. The fields were even more overgrown, the plants being allowed to overtake the path entirely. It was colder too, a light gush of wind sweeping in from the mountains. They swept underneath his coat, tugging at its edges so that it flared out behind him. Hands held tightly on to his hat that threatened to fly away. The wind rattled through the grass, making it rustle and bend, but never quite managing to break it. The entrance of the cave was just visible nestling at the foot of the mountains; an even darker patch in a dark wall of rock. Home.

Enthused by the prospect of soon being there, he picked up the pace. Both eye and mind fixed on the destination, his surroundings all forgotten, he didn't notice the flicker of a silver tail from in between the trees. A tail that was much too large to belong to the forest's usual habitants. The silver dragon whipped its tail in impatience, sending a gush of air that went against the wind. Vivi broke in to a sprint, drawing ever closer.

'Home,' was all he could think, 'I'm home.'

II

"I'm home," Zidane sighed, pushing open the door to the room they had procured for the night. Having enough courtesy to hold the door open for the ladies, he let it fall close behind them, hitting Steiner square in his armored visage.

Ignoring his indignant spluttering with an indifference few others possessed, Zidane walked over to one of the beds and threw himself down. Dagger, Eiko, Freya and Steiner were huddled up in the doorway, regarding the room with disgust.

"I am not surprised you would feel at home in such a sty," Steiner said, gesturing towards the room, "But the rest of us are used to something… more refined than _this_."

Zidane, comfortably sprawled on the damp sheets of his bed, propped himself up on his elbows. "That's bull," he countered, grinning at Steiner's shocked expression. "Eiko grew up in a ruin and I know for a fact that Freya went through a bit of a rough patch after Sir Fratley left. Plenty of drunken stupors, waking up in her own vomit and so forth. And I've personally observed both you and Dag put up with much worse. You," he concluded, his eyes glinting in mischief, "just like to complain."

The fight could possibly have been one of those that lasted the entire night, never quite being finished, but one that they could resume at any moment life got dull. Luckily Freya had the quick wit to anticipate this.

"Although I have no problem with our accommodations, I think I shall leave you for now. I must find Amarant so that I can get an overview of our financial status." With that she left them, spear thrown casually over her back, tail swinging lazily from side to side.

They had all agreed that Freya should be the treasurer, being in charge of their gil. All except Amarant of course, who didn't trust anybody with anything, least of all money. The second they'd arrived in Treno, he had scurried of to catch up with friends from the seedy underbelly of this city of nobles. Quina had gone of too. Probably to find some food. Nothing unusual about that. What had been a bit strange, Zidane reflected as he tossed around on the bed, was that Vivi taken off too. He usually stayed close, but sometime between arriving in the city and finding this inn, he had gone off. Not that Zidane was worried. He knew better than anyone that that little mage could handle anyone. Still… weird.

Dagger came over, disrupting his train of though.

"Zidane, you realize that this room is much too small to accommodate all eight of us?"

She edged down next to him on the bed, looking at the room, though this time in contemplation rather than disgust. He knew it too; there were only five beds.

"It'll be alright," he reassured her. "Quina and Amarant probably won't come back. You and Eiko can share, or Rusty can sleep on the floor. Whatever you want."

She had changed so much from that insecure and posh princess. Still, in the matter of privacy she was still as old-fashioned as ever. Wishing to wipe the worry off her face, he grabbed her hand, pulling her off the bed.

"Come on! Let's go out."

"What? Out where?"

"Out! Just out. This is the ultimate night-time city. It's got everything. Don't tell me you plan to spend our stay here locked up in this room?"

"We came here to get supplies," she complained. Still, he could see she wanted to go.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun."

The spark of adventure had been lit in her eyes, and her hand was just tightening around his in response, when Eiko and Steiner both spoke up at the same time.

"You will seize your troublesome queries at once," Steiner said, shaking his fists in a most familiar gesture. This sentence was closely followed by Eiko's more high-pitched one.

"Well, if she's not going _I_ want to come along."

Another potential mess, but this time Dagger was the one to step in.

"Steiner, be quiet. We're going out for a bit of exploring. Eiko, you should go to bed."

With that she threw open the door, following in Freya's wake, Zidane close behind. At last some quality time with just the two of them. This should be a good night.

III

The hills were steep and windy. No one would ever find him here. The silver dragon bit its talons deep into the ground, wings flapping lazily to keep in balance. On his back sat a man, white-clad, elegant, with an expression of boredom as he surveyed the city of Treno and its grassy surroundings far below. Like the wings of his mighty dragon, his hair and clothes flapped from side to side in the breeze.

How bored he was. So bored. He had taken charge of this city, just like he planned to do. He had created war between mighty nations, and soon he would possess the crystal. All very well, but there were never any challenge, never any resistance. Not much to speak of anyway. He had to conceive, he missed it. Striving for something one wanted. Struggling, succeeding against all odds. That was the life of a winner, he supposed. Soon there was nothing left to win. Although… his thin lips tipped up in a hungry smile as he spotted the figure of a tiny mage making it's way along the forest's edge. One could certainly have fun along the way. If only for a little while.

"Come, silver dragon," he called, making his beast jerk it's head in attention. "To the trees below. Let us have some fun and see what that rogue mage really is capable of."

It swished its tail and flapped its wings, taking off from the steep mountain-side and landing in the forest. The beasts lurking there took of at once. He could see their tail disappearing between the trees. He sighed. Fiends fled from just the sight of him. This was really getting quite boring. But then there was the mage out in the field. To think he had created this creature, one of his only enemies. What irony. He had to laugh. All the hardened criminals in that city close by had thrown themselves at his feet, obeying his every command. And yet, this little creature, so scared, so uncertain, not even sure of his own right to exist; he had put up more of a fight than anyone else. Just a child really. But he wanted to live, he supposed. Too bad, because now he would die.

The silver dragon flapped its tail eagerly, as though it could read its master's thoughts. Bearing its teeth to the night, it crawled along the ground to the edge of the wood. Its master smiled hungrily, excitedly. At last a new hunt worthy of the mighty Kuja.

IV

'That insufferably stubborn, selfish… thing,' Freya cursed in silence as she looked up and down the main street, searching for that tall, read-headed figure. What was he anyway? Where'd he come from? In all her years of travelling she'd never seen his likeness. And he never told them anything. All he did was to scowl and argue. If he wasn't such an excellent fighter she would have mind to throw him out of their little gang. Though, of course Zidane would never have allowed that.

Deciding he was probably to be found in the less presentable part of town, she began scouting for a side-street so she could get away from the ocean of nobles she'd been stuck in, all carrying shopping bags, all eyeing her in the utmost disgust as they took in her red cloak and javelin. She supposed weapons was not what was worn in town this season, and found that she really didn't care. One wouldn't have to walk for long before one found the slums. Eyeing an alleyway that looked less then presentable, Freya ducked down, edging her way through the multitude of people. It was a relief to exit that sleek, fake street for something slightly more run down, and decidedly less crowded.

Here the cobblestones were replaced by mud, and the shiny stone-surfaced had to make way for rotting wood. On every surface there was pinned a poster of the man she was looking for. It carried a neat reward. Perhaps they should just turn him in, then all their money-trouble would be over. But no, even she had more loyalty to him than that.

With Amarant scowling down on her from every surface, she continued further into the slum of Treno. From there on it was simply a matter of looking in on every bar. And sure enough, she found him at last, perched by the counter with a glass in one hand and cards in the other.

'Men. So predictable,' she sighed to herself, letting the door slam shut behind her as she entered.

"Amarant," she snapped briskly while walking towards him. He feigned deafness and didn't turn. Walking up to him, she gave his shoulder a good punch with a glowed hand.

"What?" he grumbled, and turned towards her with the usual scowl.

She sat without answering, ordering a drink from the bartender. Amarant, not one for patience, turned towards the fellow he was talking to and resumed the conversation.

"So, how much?"

"Huh?" Amarant turned back to her.

"How much have you managed to hide away?"

"What?"

"How much gil?"

He didn't answer at first, but merely stared at her. Freya couldn't be certain if this was because he was thinking what to answer her, or if he really didn't know.

"I dunno," he shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, then check, would you," she snapped yet again.

With a great sigh he pulled out a pouch, throwing it towards her.

"Why do you want it anyway," he asked before chugging the last of his drink.

"We came her to buy new supplies. We share everything, and it's time you pitched in a little."

"Whatever."

Turning back to his friend, clearly marking the end of the conversation. Freya was about the leave the dingy pub when the fellow spoke at last.

"Did I hear right? You're restocking?"

He had a high-pitched voice that did not seem to match his burly figure. She sat down again, leaning across Amarant to answer.

"That's right. Why do you ask?"

He grinned, and she could feel her hands tightening around the money automatically. They couldn't afford a robbery. For the first time she was grateful for Amarant. The stranger wouldn't try anything as long as he was there.

"I might have something of interest for a gang like yours…"

Though she was initially surprised he'd heard of them, she didn't show it in any other way than to flicker her tail so the little bell jingled. He didn't wait for her to answer.

"I've just been to the auction. Spent all my gil, don't got a penny left. But it was worth it to outbid that noble-lady. Old cow…"

He lost himself in contemplation over this lady, staring blankly at nothing in particular.

"And…" she spurred him on.

"And I bought something, though I didn't really need it. It's like that when you win too much money, you know. They just sort of burn in your pocket and you end up spending them on something you really don't need…"

Freya couldn't say she knew that feeling, never having gambled herself, no matter how much Zidane nagged her.

"Anyway," he continued, coming to his point at last. "I've heard about this old chap in Daguerro that might be interested in it. I have no idea why, but it's said he's willing to trade quite a valuable sword to get it… And from what I heard, a good sword is just what you happen to be on the lookout for."

Amarant must have told him. There were no other way for this man to know so much about them… Still, why on earth would he tell _her_?

"Excuse me, but who are you?" she asked, remembering he hadn't even told her his name.

"Oh, that's not important. And old friend of Amarant."

He didn't object to this, so she supposed it had to be true.

"And why do you tell us this?"

His grin widened just a fraction, showing off long, brown teeth. She repressed a shudder, though she could feel the fur on her back raise just a fraction.

"I may be a scumbag without principles, but what you do… it's for the world, yeah? Now, how can I not support that?"

He began fishing around in his coat, moving from pocket to pocket, searching for something. Though the man was absolutely right, she very much doubted his intentions. In her experience, people did little for others if they had nothing to gain themselves. Of course, this man would gain security, a stable world, but she doubted he realized that. Still, when he'd found what he was looking for, he threw it on the counter without any nonsense.

It was a tiny parcel wrapped in white silk-paper. A stark contrast to the dark and dirty counter. She eyed it hesitantly, not sure whether to pick it up or not. Amarant must have understood her hesitation, because he spoke up for the first time during her conversation with the other man.

"It's okay, Freya. He's cool."

She would have snorted at his choice of words. They seemed a little nonchalant, even for him. But she decided to let is pass. She trusted him, after all. Was it possible then that the stranger was telling the truth? That he actually wanted to help them? She decided to open the parcel.

It was a stone. Grey and small. Seemingly nothing special about it, but then again, it never was. All these great stones, capable of providing the most amazing powers, usually had the look of ordinary pebble. She picked it up and turned it precariously around in her palm. It was warm, too warm for an ordinary stone. Other than that it seemed quite usual.

"What is it?" she asked the stranger.

"I've got no idea. But apparently it's very valuable."

"Yes," she quipped, "I get that. But you have no assumption as to what it does?"

"Nope," he shrugged, "none."

"But there is a man in Daguerro who wants it?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

She looked at Amarant who nodded.

"And you are willing to just give it to me?"

"Well…" the man smirked once again. "Let's just say I owe Amarant a favor."

"Ah… I see…"

So that was the reason. Well, it was good enough for her. She wrapped the stone back in its paper, pocketing it.

"Well, then I thank you," she said solemnly, directing her thanks to both men. "I suppose we should bring this news to the others."

Amarant nodded. They said goodbye to his friend, who was already deep in conversation with the bartender, and took their leave.

On their way back to the inn, Freya's mind reeled. If this weapon was so amazing, they should take leave for Daguerro. On the other hand, they still needed to restock. When reaching the inn, they found the room deserted, save Steiner and Eiko, who were both sleeping soundly. They exchanged a quick glance, before Amarant dragged himself over to a bed and threw himself down. Freya stepped over to awake the others.

Steiner sat bolt upright in the bed when she'd gently nudged him.

"What…? What's this?" he asked with blurry voice, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Eiko simply looked around in confusion, not finding any of her closest friends in the room.

"We've found something…" Freya started, looking to Amarant for help. He didn't even meet her gaze.

"What?" Eiko asked.

"Well, apparently Amarant procured a stone of some value. And it's possible to trade it for a sword of even greater use in Daguerro. So we though we might discuss the possibility of going there."

At this both Steiner and Eiko perked up. This was the good news they'd been hoping for.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Eiko shouted in excitement.

"We would have to discuss this with the others as well. Where are they? It's not like Zidane to give up an opportunity to sleep…" she said, looking around as if expecting to find him slumped down and sleeping in a corner. Needless to say, he was not.

"They went out. And Vivi and Quina are gone too…"

"We will have to wait for the Princess before we make a decision," Steiner decided, now fully awake and back on duty.

"Actually," Amarant said, speaking up for the first time since they got back, "he said there was some urgency. We should get going right now."

"Alrighty," Eiko yelled, jumping up and pulling on her boots. "Let's go then. We'll just leave a note for the others! It's not _that_far to Daguerro. Not when we've got an airship."

She did have a point. Although Freya didn't like the though of splitting up. She could see Steiner thinking the same thing. But as both Eiko and Amarant had begun heading out the door, they had little choice but to follow. Steiner scribbled a hasty note explaining to the others. Then they were off.

V

….Hungry….so hungry…."

Quina's stomach ached with hunger. Nothing unusual about that. But there was an added dread at being back in this city where she'd been so close to death before. She'd tried buying some food in a bar. She'd seen both Zidane and Dagger there, and knew they would buy her something. They were kind people. So kind that she didn't even contemplate taking a bite. Although the girl had very nice-smelling hair… Perhaps another time. But the mean man working in the bar had thrown her out.

She'd decided the leave the city, knowing from experience that nothing much were to be found there unless one had money. She'd abandoned it for the fields beyond, seeking better luck there.

Usually the forest was packed with tasty animals. Fangs with delicate dark fur, that was completely edible. But no one where to be found. She strode through the forest, getting ever more panicked, ever hungrier.

At last she stepped out on the plains. The tall grass, bending in the wind, suddenly looked very nice. A pleasant smell emanated from the plants. Perhaps they could be eaten… though she didn't usually eat grass…

Then, as a godsend gift, as if the Mighty Qu had heard her prayers, she saw him. The little figure moving with great haste towards a cave-opening. The pointy hat and long coat-tails gave him away. It was the little mage. She'd often wondered how they tasted. Completely made of Mist. She hadn't yet tried to eat those creatures. But once would have to be the first.

Felling her tongue dripping with saliva, her mouth growing wet in anticipation, she sat in a sprint towards her little comrade and soon–to–be–meal.

But as she got closer, saliva dripping from her mouth making a large, wet stain on her apron, her vision getting red, she saw that something was very wrong. The mage was not alone. At first she though the blond man was Zidane. They certainly looked alike, both with the same delicious tail. But Zidane did not have a skirt. Then she saw; it was the mean man. The man who had incarcerated her without giving her any food. The man who had tried to kill them time and time again. And he was attaching her meal.

"NO!" she yelled, picking up her pace, running towards them as fast as she was capable. "NO, no kill my food. Quina …. HUNGRY."

He looked up in confusion. She pulled out her fork, charging with all her might. The man must have understood not to get between a Qu and its meal. A silver dragon, with the most mouth-watering scales came swooping down, and the mean man jumped up on its back.

Her relief was short-lived, however. Once she reached the mage, she saw the damage was already done. He was lying, seemingly lifeless, face down in the grass, the wind tugging feebly at his hat. The meal ruined. Quina didn't eat dead things, she wanted her meal fresh.

"….no…" she moaned, picking up the limp would-be meal. "Vivi… wake, Vivi…"

The light in his eyes was feeble and flickering.

"Vivi…?"

**A/N: **I didn't quite know how to tell the story from Quina's angle, since the only thing we really know about her is that she's hungry. This was my attempt. Comments? Complaints? Please leave a review and let me know what you think.


	3. A Confidence Game

Chapter three – A Confidence Game

I

Like the streams of the mountain, amalgamating in a deep and powerful river in the valley below, the tributaries of Dagger's scheme were all drawn together to the Fat Qu's by a force no less substantial than gravity itself.

The nighttime nobles that inhabited the city were as dubious as the hardened and callous criminals in its seedy underworld as to the web that was being spun across the city at that very moment. The web's engineer, its spider if you will, sat by the waterfront, reviewing its strings; slacking a bit there, tightening a bit here, but all in all satisfied with its work, confident it would indeed catch the object of its desire; the fly.

In other, less agreeable parts of town, the building bricks of this great scheme were consorting with pawns of their own, making the web ever more twisted; its many intentions pulling the fragile edifice every which way, threatening the strings to snap.

II

Zidane Tribal, aforementioned pawn, in love with his princess, if not with her plan, was scowling up at the night sky. He was searching for his stolen airship, cursing his back-stabbing comrades that had taken off some two days before.

"They could have waited. I mean, it's not the world to ask," he muttered for perhaps the twentieth time that afternoon, to ears as deaf as when he'd spoken the first time.

Comrades, equally jilted, though far less hurt than himself, were occupying two of the room's small bunks.

Actually, that was not quite truthful. Though perhaps not as emotionally scarred as himself, Vivi was by far the looser of this entire debacle; lying on his bed, unconscious for the second night in a row. And he would not wake until they acquired the extremely rare and hard-gained medicine. On the plus-side, the little mage was entirely dubious as to the scorn he would otherwise have suffered had he been awake.

The other companion was perhaps as self-pitying as Zidane himself, moaning quietly and dripping copious amount of spittle on the bed sheets. Her tongue, paled from lack of sustenance, resembled a water-hose, spraying moisture every which way the Qu pointed it. Luckily her starvation had been enough to scare of Vivi's attacker, whoever it was; the Qu was still too riled up to speak of it.

Needless to say, they made poor company to a vibrant and adventurous young man like himself. There was, however, a silver lining to it all, their abandonment giving the perfect excuse to get a little closer to _his_ object of desire, but she was currently too busy laying plans of ridiculously epic proportions. And on that note, he should probably get going; having promised her to meet up before the whole calamity (as he was certain it would be dubbed sooner or later) began.

But thief, bastard and general scoundrel he was, he had not passed up the opportunity to lay some collusions of his own. With Steiner already out of the way, this was his opportunity. He would, one way or another, snag the Princess. Not just her body this time, but her heart also. That must assuredly be worth any quandaries she might throw at him in the process.

III

Despite the very nature of a Confidence Game, Jules did not trust that dark-haired woman. He disliked any woman on general principle. When said woman was a brunette, and consorted with the Dismas of Treno to boot… No, there was no depending on her trust. But he would surely make her depend on him. That was the beauty of the game – how he had missed it.

He supposed he ought to thank her in that respect, having drawn him out of his drunken and broke stupor to engage him in some proper money-winning scheme.

Jules' unkempt mane of raggedy brown hair, flapped in the cool breeze of his rooftop apartment. Technically, it was Aue's flat, having come upon a lucky inheritance. But Jules had been living there for so long, that it hardly mattered whose shaky signature were on the deeds.

One would hardly expect men of such ogre-like resemblance to own an apartment only slightly less then respectable. But Jules was an enigma; just as surprising as he was clever.

At that very moment, he was putting the brain, hidden under his bush hair, to good use. Brushing away the aforementioned mane in impatience, he mulled his own plan over, creating a little Game of his own.

Faithful sidekick and acting manservant, Aue came staggering up the stairs, supporting his burly frame on the rickety railing with one hand, carrying a cup of tea in the other. Last night had been a long one and, as it turned out, too much for Aue to handle. Not that he was in prime condition himself, but he could bloody well walk up a staircase without taking a tumble. Most likely anyway. He let Aue do his business with cleaning the table and placing down the tea before him. He would have left Jules to it, progressing to fulfill the remainder of his household tasks, if not for the expression on his friend and partners face.

"How're the plans comin' along?" he asked.

Jules looked up, eyes bloodshot, his leathery skin stretched in a scowl.

"How d'ye thing? Bad idea with that last drink. I mean, how the bloody 'ell I'm I supposed to plan a counter game, when I don't know the rules o' the first one?"

"Yeah, yeah…" the other man sighed, wishing he hadn't asked. "If ye can't think 'o anything, why don't we just wing it, yeah? Or decide later, when she's given us some details?"

At the virtual daggers Jules were shooting from his bloodshot, yellow-tinged eyes, Aue made the astute assumption that this was not the answer the man was looking for.

"Aue," he sighed, his voice gruff, "I know for a fact that yer ain't stupid. So why, in the name of Ifrit 'imself, do ye insist on acting it?"

Aue stood by the table, letting the profanities wash over him, like a tidal-waive breaking upon rock - he being the rock; silent and unmovable. It took some seconds before Jules once more made sense.

"We're just pawns in the little ladies Game. At 'er command, yeah? We won't know what sort of thing she's planned before it's all over and done with. And that, my dimwitted friend, is why we're going to invent a little Game o' our own, thus sabotage 'ers and reapin' the profit all on our lonesome. Got it?"

Aue nodded in silent reticence. He knew all this, of course, being no stranger to the Confidence Game. But long experience had also thought him that Jules' plans were mostly rubbish. He acted along, certainly. If not, a major fight would be sure to commence. But in secret, far from his partner's prying eyes, he spun his own scheme, so that when the time came, they'd be ready.

IV

The engineer herself was sitting by the waterfront, on the Stella-family's property; its vast and lush lawns squandered on a woman who rarely took a step outside, contented with counting her coins and treasures.

Hidden behind a large bush, she doubted anyone would see her, but that did not refrain her from jumping in fear and surprise every time someone passed.

She tried to concentrate on the plan at hand, but being constantly deterred by passing citizens and worry for her wounded companion. And then there were Zidane, proving to be less than helpful. She was honestly surprised at this, given his previous eagerness for her to learn the ways of the commoner. And what was lower, and indeed less lady-like, then arranging an elaborate scheme to pry money from the undeserving hand of her peers? He had even been the one to tell her of it, so for him to suddenly take the moral high-ground was not only annoying, but outright hypocritical.

Kicking the water, pretending it was his smug face, the pond rippled in tiny waves, threatening to give away her position. This was just like the Hunting-feast incident all over again. Or, as Zidane called it: 'the time you drugged me and run off with Rusty.' That calamity also remained one of the few contentions between the two, and she dreaded having to pull the memory out in the light of day. But when his lack of trust in her had spurred her to drug him once, she did not vacillate towards doing so again. Was it not he, she though with a huff, who had suggested this thieving duo? In the dusk of Madain Sari, its secret caves that offered shelter from Steiner and Eiko's prying eyes. He had proposed they called themselves 'The Betrothed'. Dagger, despite herself, had to smile fondly at the memory.

Almost as if summoned, with a sense of timing like no other she had ever met, the object of her contemplation rushed through the thicket of shrubs that hid her. Yelping in surprise, she almost toppled over into the pond. He rested his palm on her shoulder, refraining her from doing so, and hunkered down with his cheeky grin, any deference absent as was only customary were he was concerned.

"What's up? Why are you hiding in a bush?"

He spoke without heed for sentries guarding the estate, or indeed even inquisitive ears of people that might damage their scheme.

"Will you be quiet," she hissed, jerking him to the ground, so that one would not see the top of his blond head peeking over the shrub. "I have been working too hard for you to spoil my efforts."

And if she was a bit angrier than strictly necessary, deflecting some of her exasperation at the general situation onto him, it was no more than he deserved. He in turn did not take her anger with good grace. But when he slumped down in a huff he did so in silence, provoking no more of her anger.

"How did you find me?" she inquired, wondering as to how he'd penetrated her foolproof (or not so foolproof as it turned out) hiding place.

That had apparently been the right question to ask. Soon he was all smiles, flattered by her interest in his skill.

"That's what it's like when you grow up in the Tantalus. With three older brothers and a borderline abusive boss, you learn to hide. Besides, it's just like you to sneak away at a spot like this. Madain Sari all over again."

She had to smile at that, knowing that he had not forgot either. The memory was enough to soothe her anger and resume her train of thought.

"Never mind that. Now, are you ready?"

His blithe smile was somewhat dimmed by this reminder of the job at hand. But given that his part, for the moment, was rather diminutive, she did not think he had much ground for complaint.

"Yeah," he sighed, twisting his head to peek a look at his rear; the reasons for his bad demeanor.

Where there normally would have been peeking out a blond and furry tail, his rump was now as smooth as any Humes. The blue trousers had been exchanged for something without his customary opening for the additional limb.

"Excellent."

"No." He shook his head in vigor. "Not excellent. I'm not the same without my tail."

"Well, you've sill got it. It's just hidden. Which is the entire point of this night's endeavor."

He shrugged in reticence, without qualms against appearing petty and immature. Then again, if there were two words that described him… She let the thought hang unspoken in the air.

"But your hair, you should cut it," she continued, enjoying the way his expression of disgust morphed into outright dread.

"My- my… What? Why?" he demanded.

"Or you could just pull it further back. Your choice. The important thing is that you don't look like… well, you."

After a long staring contest and a raging battle of wills, he gave in at last.

"Man, this is some twisted plan…" he muttered, loosening the string that bound his hair together in a loose ponytail. When he knotted it again, it was much tighter, suddenly revealing so much of his features that usually were lost under his large mop of hair.

"Indeed," she muttered in distant agreement.

When finished tying his hair, she nodded in satisfaction. The transformation, though primitive and precarious was, for all intents and purposes, complete. No more was needed, or so she hoped. Later on she must try persuading him into a more substantial transformation. Not today though; Dagger recognized a lost cause when she saw one.

Shaking her head in quiet exasperation, her gaze left the stubborn thief to stare at the pond, glittering in the nights meager light. Despite her reserve towards outdoor activities, Stella had invested in lampposts, the metal poles coiling around the pond in perfect a circle. The unassuming bush that made their hiding place was right at the waters edge. She could not resist dipping her hand in the tepid water, enjoying its rippling movements about her hand.

The plan was laid, the web complete. Thought executing it might prove to bring some difficulty. 'And that,' she snorted to herself, 'was the understatement of the century.'

V

Later that night, little streams of schemes, greed and desperation, merged together into the river that was this new Confidence Game. The Fat Qu's, the arena in which said game was to be acted out, was incidentally the point of conflation for other, less ill intending, if just as devious people.

There were times Dagger forgot Zidane's origins - his past as a thief. But seeing how well he blended inn in a place like this, almost indistinguishable from the backdrop, reminded her all too well.

The stuffy atmosphere darkened with so much smoke that she was certain the air must be poisonous, making an unpleasant change from the fresh night air outside. Zidane was seemingly oblivious to this change of fumes, but then he'd practically inhabited such bars as this once. In fact, his mood was visibly lightened by their surroundings of drunken plebeians and scantly clad maids.

He chuckled in approval as one of them handed him a jug of lager, saying it was on the house, before walking away with swaying hips. Dagger had to give him a good shove after that, in order for the poor, besotted fool to gather his wits. He gave her a sheepish grin that she ignored, before sipping gratefully from his jug.

While Zidane was busy finishing off his drink, looking around for the woman that had brought it, Dagger did some scouting of her own. Jules and Aue had agreed upon this meeting-place, and were supposed to be waiting at their customary table. But no such ragged duo were to be found; not at the table, not anywhere.

Cursing their tardiness and Zidane's flirting in equal measure, she was determined to wait outside, not wanting to expose herself to the intoxicating air for longer than necessary. But as a godsend gift, they came, just as her partner was declaring he would stay inside and order something more to quell his thirst.

As they entered, Dagger found her description to be quite apt; ragged they indeed were. With appearances that exuded both poverty and drunkenness, she began to think that tonight might not be the best time to put the plan into action after all. But as it turned out, drunken con-men were a force to be reckoned with. More so than Zidane, who had held true to his word and disappeared into the crowd that surrounded the bar-counter.

Once spotting her, Jules waived her over with a grin as suave as it ever got. She left Zidane to his business, as she went to tend to hers.

"Hi there, gorgeous," Jules greeted her, smile still held firmly in place. "How're ye doin' this fine evenin'?"

Not bothering with this semi-polite banter, she pulled out the rickety chair and glided into place with all the grace she could muster.

"Please sit," she ordered in habitual command. "My partner will join us shortly."

They scrambled to sit, making such haste that she had to quirk her eyebrow in query. They offered no other explanation other an exchange of meaningful looks.

Not demeaning herself to inquire as to what their silent communication was regarding, she pressed on with the job of sorting her mind and hand out the orders to her subjects. 'Perhaps,' she came to think, 'the tasks of Queen and thief are not so different.'

"Is the Dismas comin'?" Jules asked incredulous, interpreting her words all wrong.

Snickering in contempt, she hastened to set the record straight – or as straight as this pawn would know.

"No no. He does not deal personally with the likes of you. The only way to speak to the Dismas, is through me. No, I have another partner for our little venture. Look, here he comes."

And right enough. Zidane, new drink in hand, came stumbling over to them, lager sloshing about in his cup.

"Jules, Aue, let me present my partner: Dagonet."

Despite said partner's boasts about previous ventures of similar construction, Zidane looked around in confusion at the mention of his false name. It was one that she had made up, and perhaps she's been wise to tell him so. But thankfully he caught the jest soon enough, and extended his hand in greeting.

"Hi there! Nice to metcha."

Voice back in his Lindblum-accent, and head in the Game, he pulled out the last chair and sat.

"Alright. Everyone is introduced. Now; let the Game commence."

IV

Several hours later they all left the Fat Qu's, everyone spinning their own little web, making everything a right knot of plans and intentions; a right and proper Confidence Game.

"No, you go ahead. I think I'll take a little walk first. Quiet the nerves, you know."

She grinned blithely, and strolled away in the opposite direction of Zidane and the inn. He did not protest, which came as some surprise. But perhaps even he had to concede that pissing her off more that night would result in an unpleasant experience involving his head (or perhaps something a bit further south of that) and her Rod, which was surprisingly heavy for a staff.

She wandered off, relishing in the relative solitude. Though there were no real distinction between night and day here, they had all decided to follow standard time for sleep. Acting with that in mind, dawn would soon come, though granted without the sun.

She hastened down the alleyways, heading for the main-street with the ambition of completing that night's tasks before Zidane began to worry. Though such concern for her well being at this point, after his blatant overtures towards the waitress earlier in the night, would be nothing other than hypocritical.

Rounding another corner, slipping at the muddy ground, she righted herself and hastened onwards. The alley led up to the main-street, which glowed before her like a beckon in the dark night.

Like a moth to the flame, she quickened her pace, looking forward to being rid of the stench of these unpaved streets were waste and sewage water were as common as the rats. But before reaching her intended destination, a hand closed around her arm, pulling her further into darkness.

The hands worked quickly. She didn't fight them, but let herself be pushed up against the wall. Bricks collided with skull harder than could possibly be healthy, spots of black and white dancing before her, distracting her from getting an actual glimpse of her attacker.

The warm breath caressing her neck in a rather intimate manner, told her he was close enough that she might attempt a counter attack. But as she endeavored to gather strength to lift her arms, the attacker's hand closed around her windpipe, squeezing with no more effort than if it was made of rubber. Spots now being replaced by a fulminating darkness, she clawed feebly at the hand threatening to bring her to an untimely end.

"Will you stand still, wench," a voice hissed, coating her ear in spit.

With no voice to make an oral affirmation, or indeed strength enough to nod her head, Dagger got completely limp, slumping down as means of showing her submission.

"Good."

He let her go then, sending her straight to the greasy ground, were she rolled around in a good imitation of the drunks one so often found there.

"Now tell me," he continued before she'd so much as regained her ability to speak, "how did it go? Are they inn?"

At the attempt to speak, her abused throat only managed a dry cough. She therefore resorted to nodding, coating her head further in the grease as a result.

"Good," he said again, leading her to believe his vocabulary was as lacking as his manners. "And they have all agreed to their tasks?"

Another nod. She could feel the dirt making its way into her ear. Face now coated in slime, shirt thoroughly ruined, she gathered the strength to sit up. Stinging pain shot up and down her arms at the effort, as the cure-spell began to heal her wounded head and throat automatically.

"Excellent. Good job."

She had not yet regained her vision fully, but could sense the man moving away nevertheless.

"Let the games begin," he cackled, the sloshing of boots against muddy ground marking his departure.


	4. The Dismas Kuja

**A/N:** Firstly I must apologize for my terrible attempt at writing accents. It must come as no surprise that I am indeed not English (in fact it's my third writing-language).  
Secondly reviews are more appreciated than you know!

Chapter four – The Dismas Kuja

I

The supper; succulent fish washed down with red wine; the most delicious of delicacies brought in all the way from Alexandria, bore little taste. But then, eating had always posed more as a chore for him, rather than actual enjoyment. Which was a pity, because it seemed life as a Dismas consisted for the most part of meetings held over the dinner-table. Tonight was no exception.

The ignominy was not lost on him; that he should have to waste his time like this; eating supper with peasants. But it was by far the easiest way to gather information, and thus, he bowed before practicality.

Today's informant did not share the Dismas' distaste toward food of the maritime inclination. He seemed to gobble it up as if he had not eaten in days. Though, judging by his ample frame, that might actually be the case.

He leaned back in his comfortable seat, sipping a glass of luxurious wine, as he eyed his guest with distain. He was impatient to get the meeting started, but conceded he had to wait, or else suffer through an inane conversation with someone demonstrating a shocking lack of table manners.

Pushing his dish across the table, his guest took the hint, and brought the meal to a conclusion by washing down the last of his fish with the remainder of the wine. The moment glass hit table, the Dismas put down his own, and laced his free hands over his stomach; the conversation could commence.

"So… Cullyn. I hear you bring news of our little gang of ragtag con-men?"

The other fellow grinned, displaying every one of his brown, pointy teeth, bearing remnants of their recent meal. A bit of spittle threatened with fleeing the confines of his mouth, but he managed to suck it in at the last minute with a rather repellent slurp.

"Oh yeah. Though I donnae know about ragtag."

The Dismas sighed, resisting the urge to rest his face in his palms. Or perhaps blow this sad man to oblivion; clearly he was unaccustomed to sarcasm.

"Indeed," he replied instead. "And what have you heard?"

Cullyn couched and wiped his mouth before gathering his wits and answered. "Well, the Princess has now taken contact with a couple of other fellows. Meanwhile Hollister has sent the Dragon Knight and the thief on a marry hunt to acquire the Excalibur. I dunnae where the others are though. Didn't ye say they were eight?"

Ah, at last success. Things were running smoothly. There had been a time when this had not been uncommon. But as that monkey-boy had gained powers as well as allies, he'd found his schemes derailed much too often for his liking.

"'Tis important that you find out. I don't want any surprises."

"Yes sir," the man nodded.

He lacked some of the black mages subtle diffidence, not to mention their competence. But they were far too conspicuous and not at all suited for intelligence work. And this was much too important that he should find his plan thwarted by some rebellious mage that should get ideas above their station and decide to revolt. No, much better then, with a man who could be bought and paid for. A corrupted man was a loyal man after all, so long ones own pockets were the deepest.

"Excellent," he mumbled again, swirling the remainder of the wine around in the glass so the contents threatened with spilling over and down on the carpet.

"'Cuse me for askin' sir, but what exactly is it that ye want with the sword? I mean, it's not like ye need it, yeah? With all that fancy magic."

"That's noting for you to concern yourself with," he replied suavely, careful to conceal all trace of his mounting annoyance. He let his manicured hand slide over his chin, looking every inch a man in deep contemplation.

It was pertinent indeed that this thief should never know the value the Excalibur held. 'Sword indeed', he scoffed to himself. Had Cullyn only known what abilities the weapon hosted… But it was imperative that he should never know, lest maybe rob him of what he'd strived so long to acquire. But that was the whole point of this Game, he supposed. Everyone plays out their designated parts, like marionettes dancing for the puppetmaster. And he was quite comfortable pulling the strings.

"You may take your leave," he said, waiving a hand towards the door with an air of disinterest. "Return once you have more news to report. No sooner. First stage should be underway presently. And remember; I want the names of every single compeer."

"Yes… Sir," the man muttered, nodding in vigour. "I won't disappoint you sir."

He turned tail and scurried out of the chamber, leaving the double doors to stand open, the night breeze sweeping in and washing away some of the odour from the night's meal.

"You better," Kuja muttered to the empty room, wind sweeping through his hair, ruffling his feathers.

II

"I look stupid. Seriously, who wears this kinds of stuff?" Zidane muttered, pulling at his cravat in the utmost agitation.

He was looking into a mirror, contemplating his own change of appearance. It was not mere vanity that up took him though, but rather the astounding transformation Dagger had set to bring about. He could no longer recognize his own face – and Zidane was no stranger to mirrors.

His frame, though by no means short, now ranged well above average by the simple addition of thick soles in his boots. These, along with the rest of his outfit, had been traded in for something altogether more sophisticated; a slim waistcoat of a midnight blue, adorned with golden spangles, riding boots of the finest black dragon leather and pants in a similar colour, though no less expensive. Over all this; waistcoat, shirt and cravat, he'd shrugged on a coat, several sizes too big, in a thick material that was positively strangling him in this heat.

All of this at the cost of no less then four thousand gil or so. He knew that confidence games by their very nature, was an expensive business, where you needed to spend money to make it. Yet, he'd not been prepared to sell his daggers for a set of clothing. It had all ended in a rather ugly debacle in the boutique, something Dagger had not yet forgiven him.

But new clothes was not all that concealed Zidane's true nature. The overly large coat was stuffed, making him a few sizes larger, the padding by no means lessening his discomfort in the heat. She'd also set about dying his hair and eyebrows, powdering his alabaster skin in a bronze that, in Zidane's opinion, fooled nobody, but that Dagger valiantly claimed was the latest fashion amongst nobility.

"And that's why they're all so bloody stupid. Smell this stuff – it can't be good for you," he commented as she dabbed the powder in his face, incidentally (or perhaps just to shut him up) sending a puff of it into his open mouth.

Still, the most bitter pill to swallow was his hair; always having been a source of pride. In Lindblum, or indeed anywhere on Mist Continent, blond hair was most uncommon. He was now sporting something more to the likening of a goblin; ginger, though not the vibrant sort, but rather washed out. Needless to say, it was not at all flattering.

Now ugly, plump and sweat, he could hardly recognize himself as he studied the result in the wall length mirror of their modest chamber.

"Stop complaining Zidane," Dagger sighed. Granted, he had given her copious amounts of grief over the matter, and frankly her exhaustion had begun to show. He was resolved he would behave at little better.

"Sorry... It's just, why am _I_the one who has to dress up? Why can't you do it? Or Quina?"

She sighed, but decided to comply and answer his query. "Quina sticks out. And besides, I am not certain she's the best at following instructions. Woman's clothing is more expensive. We would need all sorts of accessories. Your outfit is indeed shockingly lacking of garnishing, but we will just have to do without. Besides, you're an actor. This should be fun."

She added the last sentence with a blithe smile, but Zidane did not share in her enthusiasm. This might very well be attributed to the rising temperature inside his costume, or from the simple fact that he had no great trust in this plan to begin with. Nevertheless, in an attempt to comply, he smiled back.

"Now remember," she began, with that pedantic voice, effectively concluding what had been a nice moment, "it is not just in appearance you must change, but in behaviour too. If you are to act the part of a noble, you must change your manner of speech, walk, and so forth."

"Just like with you after we kidnapped you," Zidane grinned. "God, you were awful. At first, I mean," he hastily added at the sight of her wounded look.

"Well, it's your turn to make a complete and utter fool of yourself." She seemed almost delighted at the prospect, if he interpreted the glint in her eye correctly. He was glad of that, having taken notice of her dejectedness after Vivi had been injured. Or perhaps it was after Steiner had left? No matter, maudlin contemplations were not his sort of leisure pursuits. It ill befitted him to be gloomy.

"I suppose. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

"It's a good thing you've got your spirits, 'cause you've lost you're looks," she grinned with her very best attempt at Lindblum slang.

"You're really something these days," Zidane muttered, beginning to unbutton his waistcoat. "Really something."

Something good. For the first time since he sold his daggers, he could feel a genuine smile coming on.

Yet it was all a bit awkward. In their sparse quarters, there was not much privacy. Vivi lay sleeping on the bed, and Quina was for the most part absent. But the princess did not take well to living in such close confines with a man of similar age. Even Zidane had to concede it was not all fun, having to change out of his costume and rinse out his hair in front of her. Grooming was the one area which he preferred to conduct in solitude.

As he shrugged out of his shirt, she turned her back in respect for his modesty. When would she learn that he had none?

"What is it that I'm supposed to be again," he asked - a feeble quip to distract her.

"You are Mr. Nicodemus, son of House Tonerre and the great Dr. Davin," she began, speaking into the wall of panels and rotting wood, making her voice slightly muffled. "He is the inventor of the aqueduct-system now in place in every major city on the Mist Continent. In an attempt to prove your worth to your father, you are charged with the task of expanding the system."

"But," he asked when her long rant had come to an end, "There's always a twist, isn't it. To ensure the other party's discretion."

"Quite," she confirmed, nodding her head, exposing her slight neck. "Mr. Nicodemus not only seeks to expand, but to improve. Stealing away his father's clients, he endeavours to employ his own device, thus making him ever richer and independent."

Tugging off his boots and trousers, he was now more naked than clothed, only a modest linen rag covering his more private parts. As if she could sense his state of undress, Dagger seemed to squirm more for every garment he shed. Had she only known, he contemplated, while pulling on his own shirt and trousers, how many times he'd spied on her, in cover of darkness as she changed out of her clothes.

It was not that he did not respect her, or her privacy, he though, fastening his belt. In fact, he held her in the utmost regard. But that did not necessarily mean he would comply to her every royal habit. It was only nakedness, after all.

"I thought my name was Dagonet," he countered when once more fully clothed, "You can turn around now."

Turning from were she'd been staring intently into the wall, she immediately set about gathering the garments he'd scattered all about the room without heed for their value of purpose.

"That too," she conceded, while folding it all neatly together with an air of exasperation that he did not immediately understand. "You will have one cover-name when we deal with Jules and Aue, but this is a different character all together."

"And pray tell, how many characters will I have the honour of portraying?"

"I think three will suffice. We will have to see."

"Three?" he asked incredulous. They had barely been able to afford this outfit. How would they finance another? "What will be the last one?"

"Ah, that you will just wait and see. The Game-master does not reveal all the cards."

"That's what you're now, is it?" he snorted, as he watched her fold the clothes with careful reverence.

"Indeed. Now, if you're quite done maligning my abilities, can you wash out that hair colour, 'lest someone sees it."

"Hey, I meant no offence."

She did not dignify with an answer but simply stared hard in the direction of the vanity and the bowl of water placed on top of it.

She really was something these days to be sure.

III

That very same eventide, just as Zidane was testing the water of his Nicodemus character, the Dismas himself was abandoning the confines of his palace to walk in the quayside gardens.

The property, expansive as it was, had been parted into several different areas; rose labyrinths, lawns and ponds. As the little path wound in between the weeping willows, shedding their leaves in the pond below, he stopped for a moment to take in the wonderful sight. But as with the previous supper, he found himself equally unenthused. It would seem nothing could liven his spirits.

Just as usual as his evening strolls, were his endless contemplation over the prize for all this work; the Excalibur.

How he'd strived, connived and plotted in order to find the way; acquiring the role of Dismas, the ruled of Treno's underworld, and now, at long last, he could spot the light at the end of the tunnel. It was enough to even make him, ever elegant and suave, just a little exited.

He'd once told his brother he had no use of such primitive weapons as blades of metal, but then, this was no mere blade; it was a weapon of such awesome and mysterious powers that how could he not possess it?

The hunger; an ever lingering greed at the forefront of his brain, grew, protruding into his every thought. The need to possess it was such that it quelled all else; his senses dimmed for the appreciation of tastes and smells. For the first time, in a very long time, he felt alive once more, with a purpose, no longer crushed under the knowledge of his own pending demise. And with the Excalibur he would ensue that once that feeling returned he would pull everyone down with him.

The final irony was that those who had opposed him most valiantly, would be the once to bring him this greatest of weapons. Irony, what delicious irony.

With the customary wolfish grin, he stared up at the moon, heralding his Silver Dragon. He felt like flying.

IV

The 'pet' of Treno's weaponshop owner flapped its mighty, black tail against the bars of its prison with such force that the entire edifice shook. Had not the bars been so decidedly thick, Jules would not have felt quite comfortable with standing straight above the creature – it seemed to him an unnecessary provocation, to dangle fresh meat in such a close vicinity. But if he were to trust the rumors, no one had been injured or eaten thus far. He could only hope he would not prove to be the one to break this chain.

While the pet rampaged around in the cage below, its owner seemed just as malcontent and almost just as lethal. With an air of exasperation bordering on anger, she turned over the patched and worn out pouch, emptying its contents onto her meticulously kept bookwork. With callused hands, no doubt injured from petting the pet, she began shifting through the contents, separating what was of value from the rest – the second pile considerably larger than the first. After sorting through the lint, fluff and odd coin, the shopkeeper looked up at him with even less enthusiasm than before, eyes darting from himself to his gil and back.

"What will I get for that?" he asked, scolding his features into a mask of blissful ignorance.

The woman rolled her eyes (or at least the eye that was visible under the rag bound around her head) and shook her head in disbelief.

"Yer not gettin' nothin' for this lot," she muttered, head still shaking from one side to the other, making the brown cloth threaten with falling off and exposing her diminishing hair.

"What? Nothin'? What kind of shop is this? Refusin' te sell te the poor folks."

"Refusin' te sell te people who can't pay," she corrected him, seemingly not soothed by his quip about discrimination against the less fortunate of the city's inhabitants.

"But look, I can," he insisted, stomping his feet so the chains suspended from the roof chirred together in a rusty and metallic choir. The beast below stamped its hind legs in unison.

"No, no, no," the woman muttered, shaking her head yet again, taking no heed of her difficult customer's distress or her rampant beast beneath the floor. "This aint enough ye see."

"Like hell it isn't!"

He was yelling now, spurring both himself and the beast into quite the fit.

The woman seemed tired, but her temper remained calm; she was no stranger to difficult customers.

"Sorry. Aint nothin' I can do 'bout it."

But just as the woman was made close to unflappable, his skill in sending people into a raging stupor was equally abundant.

"But these prices are insane. Two hundred gil for a dagger? Come on."

Adopting the whimsy grin and whining tone of a drunken halfwit, Jules could sense the irritation of the woman being brought up a peg.

"If ye donnae like the prices, ye better take yerself off then," she said, pointing at the door. "This aint no place fur hagglin'."

"I dunnae like yer tone, woman!"

It was simple, so simple, but the effect was indisputable; by addressing the shopworker in her gender, the irritation morphed into full-fledged anger, as was only customary when one enhanced the gender of someone who where usually in competition with male traders, and were often believed to be less accomplished as said competition.

The flailing of her arms became thus that her scarf fell off, exposing the graying hair seemingly glued to her scalp, as she began screaming at him, red in the face.

"Who do ye think ye are, eh? Comin' in here, thinkin' ye know better than me. I've been doin' this work since before ye were born lad," she screamed, her bloodshot face growing impossibly redder.

With her eyes covered in the red haze of fury and her mind singly devoted to her impossible customer, she did not notice the man lurking in the shadows, slipping underneath her counter, though he was of no small proportion.

"And who did ye get the shop form? Yer husband?"

"Oh, ye little-"

Jules honestly believed that had she been of slighter build, and perhaps not so worn down by a lifetime of excessive drinking, that she would have jumped over the counter, crushing him under her massive weight. As it was, she had only the strength to jump up and down behind the counter, but the sight was terrifying enough.

As every flab and skin-fold jumped with her, the weight of her massive form hitting the floor, made the chains in the roof rattle more vigorously than before, threatening with falling, hitting him in the head. What was even worse than the prospect of being hit in the head with a heavy, rusty piece of metal, was the creature below. Riled by its master's fury, it stamped around in its cage, roaring as it went. Suddenly Jules were no longer all that certain that the bars were thick enough.

But with the noise of a jumping woman and a raging beast, said lady did not notice the burly shadow of a black clad man, as he slipped behind her and in between the racks of weapons.

"Think I should take my business to someone who knows how te price their wares," Jules cackled in malice as his partner hooked a random selection of weapons from the wall.

Being no great expert on weapons other than knifes and daggers, the man in black, had not been prepared for the weight of his booty. He struggled with the twin axes and morningstar that he'd snatched of the wall, every flailing movement hazardous, 'lest the woman should see. It was imperative that they should succeed. Not solely because if they didn't, the woman would no doubt pull the lever by the desk and make dragon fodder of them both, timing was of the essence too. If they did not accomplish this task, then the rest of the game would be off. As far as they knew anyway, what with their limited access to details.

"What's a woman doin' in this business anyway?" Jules asked, now adding motion to his expression, becoming ever more infuriating and distracting, as was his purpose.

At his words, the woman actually attempted to climb over the counter, too angry to think to take the obvious way around it. Perhaps she was hoping for the aid of gravity when launching herself at him from top of the desk. Whatever the reason, the man, who was of course Aue, slipped around, quarry in hand.

The woman did not succeeded in her attempt, something Jules could have told her on beforehand. As she struggled, arms giving in to her enormous weight, Jules followed his partner out the door, fearing his insults would cost him his life if he lingered.

Scarpering through the heavy double doors, they pelted down the streets and rounded the corner in time to hear them creek shut.

Taking the stairway two stairs at a time, they did not pause before reaching the top, sufficiently far from the shop and the nobles that so often surrounded it. Here were only a drunken bum, slumped down in a corner clutching his bottle and conversing with a passing kupo that did not seemed pleased with its predicament. Neither took much notice of the two panting men though they were armed to the teeth.

"What did ye take?" Jules asked, curious to see the fruits of their endeavor.

Aue held forth his quarry, as though it was not already plainly visible. The matching pair of axes and the morningstar had begun to pain his hands with their weight, almost slipping from between his fingers. Jules stooped forward, grabbing the morningstar to relieve his partner of some of the burden.

"Ay. This will do nicely," he mumbled, looking the weapon over. "She better be happy now, that 'ittle wench."

V

At that same moment, said wench was indeed not happy and could have done with the good news. Having left Zidane in somewhat of a pique, she now strolled the streets, relishing in the relative solitude.

He was not to blame of course for the calamity she'd now trapped them in. In fact, Zidane was still blissfully unaware that she was playing puppet to another master entirely. But the betrayal was kindly meant; all she wanted was to earn Vivi his cure. Now her actions and foolhardiness may claim them all.

But the mistake now having been made, she could not see how she could confide in him. He would surely be mad that she had deceived him. No, better to see the Game through to the end, and then endeavor to reap whatever reward there may be to ensure Vivi would be healthy once more. She had until the return of the rest of the party. If only it was enough time.

It was thus Cullyn found her, deep in though and guilt. She did not notice his approach, but then that might be attributed to the crowdedness of the street.

"Walk with me," a voice hissed in her air, moist and loud so close up. A hand closed around her upper arm in a hold that would no doubt leave a bruise, and pulled her down the street.

"Not choking me today I see," she muttered rather tersely, not having forgiven the man for last night.

He only grinned, all the while pulling her further down the street, to whatever end.

"I will need to know who else is involved. Their names, mind," he murmured, easing his grip and linking their arms so that if not for the obvious difference in class and age, they might have looked like two lovers taking a nighttime stroll.

Luckily Dagger had prepared for just such a moment, as discussed with Zidane earlier that night.

"Er… Well, there's me and my partner-"

"What did I just say? I want yer names, woman."

"Right." She nodded, somewhat nervous. She'd never been a comfortable liar, which had often proved to be a disadvantage at the Alexandiran court.

"Sara. I'm Sara. And my partner Dagonet. And then there's our collaborators Jules and Aue."

She felt no qualms in regards to exposing her partners; had they not been smart enough to think of cover names, that was not her problem.

"And what of the other six?"

That she had not expected, though it should not really have come as a surprise, given that she was hired by this man.

"What other six? We are alone," she said, not at all as composed as before.

"Bullshit," the man muttered, squeezing her arm harder.

"They've left us. All of them. Went off somewhere and left us behind."

No reason for them to know of the injured mage and qu taking shelter in the inn. That much Dagger knew; the element of surprise was a valuable one.

"Right then… All of them?"

"Yes."

He asked and probed some more, all the while leading her towards the channel and Queen Stella's property. The more she lied, the smoother it went, although as he left her she felt his absence of presence like a clammy and intrusive blanket being lifted.

Returning to the inn, she found both men sleeping soundly in their beds, Zidane sprawled on top of the blankets, tail twitching in suspense from whatever dream gripped him.

She'd never regretted her deceit more. If they could only understand; it was all for them.


	5. Streets And Windows

Chapter Five – Streets and Windows

I

The stuffy air of four people sharing quarters was as unrelenting as the perpetual darkness. As Dagger's senses slowly returned and her awareness evaporated the fog of sleep, she could sense the bustling of a waking city outside the closed windows. She should open then, she knew, to allow some fresh air inside, but could not be made to abandon her cocoon of blankets; warm and soft. She nestled her head further into the pillows, hair covering her face, tickling with every breath and gripped the blanket tighter.

But the air could not be ignored, and the gnawing awareness that she would soon have to crack a window open, lest they all suffocate, kept her from slumber. But rather than do any of these things, she curled up tighter and contemplated today's coming venture, looming in the forefront of her mind.

Cullyn's instructions had been simple enough, but she could not ignore the feeling of approbation that gripped her whenever she though of the man; mangled teeth, whimsy grin and all. Zidane had been very clear in his instructions in regards to the confidence game. She had been surprised of late therefore, when he seemed to grasp her every instruction so slowly. In any case, he'd said that the chain of command in such an enterprise was often long and tangled. Who only knew who Cullyn received his commands from? As it were, she very much doubted it was on his own initiative, especially given how all the criminals in this city seemed to dread the though of confidence games altogether.

Being a woman of keen intellect, as Dagger was, she had already begun to suspect the Dismas to be at the bottom of it all. But seeing as she had no inkling as to who this alleged boss of thieves could be, and no one else seemed prepared to divulge in the matter, she had no way of affirming this theory.

Cracking an eye open to survey the room, she could for the first time appreciate the eternal dark that loomed over Treno City of Nobles, as the light did not sting her eyes. The streetlights outsider rather lent a glow to the room that made it possible to take in the disarray of scattered clothing and discarded food (that which was left after Quina had sorted through it). She had made valiant effort to make Zidane clean up after himself, but had soon relented, bowing before his constitutionally lazy disposition.

'Relax princess. This isn't the castle. No servant to scold you if you let your shirts lie on the floor.'

Of course, at the palace the scolding would have gone the other way around. But Zidane possessed an almost childlike naiveté in regards to rank and power.

Said slob was now residing on the adjacent bed, sprawled spread eagled on top of his blankets, seemingly in the exact same position as she'd found him last night. Like the cat he resembled, Zidane was in need of a great deal of sleep, and did not seem to waist a single opportunity.

His mouth was slightly open, moist where saliva had managed to escape the confines of his moth and dribble down his cheek. It somehow suited his image of carefree thief and she found to her utter surprise that she didn't mind.

It was perhaps the only light in this everlasting darkness; him. For though she daily found herself spurring his advances, it was an immense comfort to have him there, believing in her though this entire debacle was evidence to the contrary.

On the bed next to him lay Vivi, snuggled together under the covers, though he still wore his clothes and hat. She had not known that the battered and frayed hat was somehow linked to the mage's magic. It was only as she was about to tug it off that Zidane leapt forward and put her straight. If not… she did not even finish the thought.

There was so much she did not know, and that was her constant shame. And now her ignorance could claim them all yet.

Quina, who were too large for the modest bed's (this inn was not accustomed to guests of her formidable size) were lying on the floor underneath the window in much the same position as Zidane, though she lacked some of his adorableness. If Dagger had to be frank, though she rarely was, she was somewhat annoyed at Zidane for bringing her along, as she offered naught but mayhem and complaint. But the qu had proven its worth in the end, Dagger supposed.

Huffing irritably, she yielded at last to the foul air. Though it was clammy and stuffed, she still shivered a little at drawing away the worn out, mouldy blanket. Her bare feet sought the coarse floorboards beneath and she stood, stretching her worn out limbs and stiff joints. Her hair, ruffled by sleep, hung down in her eyes like a veil, fluttering with every breath.

Quina had, for whatever reason, decided to lodge herself right underneath the window. And though Dagger doubted the qu would take any damage should she use her as a stool, or indeed wake at all, she felt a natural aversion towards walking right over someone. Nudging around the massive frame, she managed to reach the lock and pry open the window, at last relishing in the fresh air.

She was wearing nothing but her shirt, though it was a long one and made use as a nightgown. It was a compromise; Steiner had insisted she rested fully clothed, while Zidane claimed that was rubbish and insisted she slept 'in the buff'.

She astutely assumed this was a joke; he was not naked now in any case, sprawled out on the bed as he was.

Though naked or no, embarrassing situations regarding different stages of undress had indeed been abundant of late. In such close quarters accidents were bound to happen.

With these musings, she filled the decanter they'd been furnished with, with water. The pipes squeaked and moaned as the water, sparse though clean enough drizzled into the jug. There was no stove to warm it on, no soap to scrub oneself thoroughly clean, but she had expected no less of an inn that did not even have proper cobbles at the entrance, nor locks on the doors.

Filling the bowl on the vanity to its brim, she tugged of her shirt and sat to cleaning herself as best she could with the modest aids at hand. What had usually been a morning routine, had become more of a weekly occurrence now that she so rarely found herself alone. But being knocked about in the gutter, and put through clammy situations in general, made the need for a wash more pressing. Besides, she would need to look presentable for today's scheme, though she played no great part as of yet. If only Zidane possessed the same attitude. As it was, he dreaded water. The only time she'd ever truly seen him panic was when he'd taken an unfortunate tumble (for which Steiner was not at all responsible, not matter what the victim shrieked he'd seen) into the creek at Condie Petie.

At that very moment, the star of her great Game came with a loud snort followed by a rumbling, purring noise. She'd often observed this unique sound escape him, and just like the tail and aversion to water, it only added to his feline traits.

She concluded her wash in a hurry, sensing he had begun to stir, his dreams loosing their hold. Once done, shivering a little though the room was still warm, she tugged on the sweat stained and dirty shirt, praying that the Game would go to distance so that they might buy her a new one.

Just as the last buckle on her shoe was securely fastened, Zidane crooked open an eye, surveying the room tentatively before meting her own alert gaze.

"Morning," he grinned and stretched, creasing his bed sheets ever more. "Today is the day, isn't it?"

"Correct," she nodded, throwing him his own shirt so that he might make himself a tad more decent before addressing her. But Zidane would not be made to be proper.

"And may I say, you look lovely. Might there be a morning kiss for me on this very special day?"

The man had absolutely no shame, she scoffed. As he sat up on in the bed, he smiled at her expectantly betraying absolutely none of the slyness she knew was inside, but looked every inch the adorable and attentive boy he would have her perceive him as.

"Not until you wash that mouth of yours," she said, throwing him another garment (or rather throwing it at him, but that was just semantics in his eyes).

"Then will you kiss me?"

"Zidane!"

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he muttered, jumping of the bed with such agility that Dagger once more was stricken by the cat-like resemblance.

"You better wash up today," she admonished, perching herself at Vivi's bedside, and filling his glass of water in case he should wake in their absence.

"When do we leave?" he asked, voice muffled by his hands as he used them rather than the rag she'd put forth for cleaning.

"Soon," Dagger answered, rather diffusely. "The midday auction will begin in less than an hour, but it doesn't hurt to be fashionably late. No one of importance ever arrives on time."

She doubted he'd caught much of it, because his back was turned, head dipped into the bowl. Apparently he'd found that using his hands wasn't effective enough. As his head sloshed beneath the surface, every muscle in his back flexed. Though slightly uncomfortable with this display, she found it hard to draw her eyes away from his tan, scarred back. Growing up with the Tantalus had been hard, she knew; his back bore evidence to that. But despite its callused skin, it was still an alluring sight, and she could not decide whether to turn in disgust or shift her angle so that she might see more of him. Therein lay the ambivalence that made her keep him at such a distance. Sometimes she wised her upbringing had been a bit less conservative, so she might have enjoyed herself more, rather than this relentless discomfort at anything new.

She was in the process of shutting the door behind her when he resurfaced, eyes blinking out the moistness, beads of water dripping down his now exposed chest; a little less calloused but no less tan than his back.

"Do we have to leave now?" he spluttered, couching a little for lack of air.

"As I said, the auction will commence in an hour or so. You can be a little late, but do show up before it is over."

"But… why are you leaving now then?"

"I have to make sure that everyone else is up."

It was like a governess; herding her children, nagging them to do as told, this gaming enterprise. It truly was, she though as she left the dripping, though clean thief to his own devices.

II

The brightly lit street that led to Lord King's towering mansion and the auction-house below, bustled with people all scurrying hither and thither like ants in a hive.

The guards pacing back and forth in front of the auction-house, guarding the treasures inside, also made it by far the safest place to do ones shopping, as all the other streets bustled with petty thieves. Not that thievery never occurred here, but the last one to attempt such a foolish venture now had a bounty of ten thousand Gil set on his head. Not a desirable predicament for a thief of any kind, especially when with the bounty came a picture that kept the man from ever entering the city again (or so they all thought).

So today, like any other day, the streets were packed, the businesses thriving, the sun shining (figuratively speaking) on all the happy, flourishing nobles below.

The channel abutting the cobbled street lent a glimmering shine to houses of the most exquisite architecture, one that nobles from all over the continent travelled far and wide to see. In fact, this was prime real-estate property, with its closeness to the quayside and proximity to every larger shop. It was here one would find every noteworthy person in the city; Lord King, Lady Hardmann, Colonel Bunansa and his darling wife Marie. Across from the Cafe Carta one would also find Queen Stella, who, though she rarely left her house, preferred to be in the midst of any event. The only time of day she ever ventured beyond the confines of her charming (and rather imposing) villa, was to do some antiquing in the auction-house. This had become a daily habit and there were always a special seat reserved for this most prosperous of guests.

After a good hour of fun, where money ran like water and a dozens things were purchased, though none of them ever used (she'd once bought a neighbours family heirloom for the simple pleasure of pissing them off), she would return to her house, not to leave it again until next day.

All this was common knowledge. It also happened to be the foundation on which the Game had been constructed.

When a plump, read-headed man by the name of Nicodemus Tonerre in dashing coat with an even more dashing lady at his side, strolled up the street as though he owned the very ground he trod on, every shopping noble assumed that this was yet another newly-rich. They came and went often enough; most of them too swept away by their own fortune to mind how they spent it, and soon ended up where they'd begun, at the bottom of the pile. Therefore no one took particular notice, though the lady did turn some heads.

The read-headed man was a bit confused about this particular 'garnishing', constantly shooting her looks of wonder.

This was perhaps the only part of the display that was not an act. For it was not Nicodemus wondering at his own luck at procuring such a woman, but rather Zidane wondering what she was doing there at all. Dagger had not mentioned anything about an accomplice, but as Zidane had prepared himself, Jules had shown up, discarding the woman, that he later recognized to be the bar wench at the Fat Qu's, at his doorstep.

With a hasty and not too enlightening explanation, Jules had claimed that they'd all decided she would escort him, so as to look less suspicious. So now he was leading her through the crowd, towards the looming and magnificent lump of granite that was the action-house of Treno.

"So, are we gonna by anything?" she giggled, batting her lashes shamelessly.

"Nope," was his sharp retort. He was still fuming over the fact that Dagger had not told him of this particular junction of the plan, confirming his belief that she did not entirely trust him. This was especially infuriating given that fact that he had more reason for distrust than she. It was after all not Dagger who had been drugged and left on the stone cold floor of the Grand Castle's banquet hall. Although he had had his own plans involving sedation. But given that they'd proven redundant, since the princess actually wished to be kidnapped, he told the little voice in his consciousness to pipe down.

They reached the auction fashionably late as Dagger had instructed. Their arrival was in fact so well timed that they reached the doors at the same time as Queen Stella herself. Stepping aside with a gracious bow, she glided in before them.

"Oh, this is all so exiting," the woman at his arm hissed as they entered the high-lofted room. Discretion was obviously not a necessity in the vocation of bar-made.

"Will you shut up," he hissed back, praying that she would not blow the whole charade. "Women are to be seen, not to be heard," he whispered. Man, if Dagger heard that she was going to kick his ass once all this was over.

He guided them to a seat row at the front, so that they could not be missed by a single guest, and sat down.

As the wench (who's name he'd already forgotten, but silently dubbed Lola) marvelled at the upholstery, he took the opportunity to scout the room.

It was as Dagger had said; Queen Stella was placed in her customary private booth, regarding the scene before her as the queen she was. She did not seem to pay attention to the objects placed before them at all, until the auctioneer rolled out a rather ugly article, an urn of some sort, riddled with inscriptions of no doubt mind numbing banality. This the man proudly proclaimed to be called Doga's Artefact and put the price in the modest range of 1400 Gil.

An unmistakable hunger of greed filled the woman's eyes. But when she lifted her hand to place a bid it was casually, almost noncommittally. This was his cue.

"Two thousand," he said, raising her offer with the casual wave of a gloved hand.

"I though you said we weren't going to by anythin'" Lola whispered, lips brushing his earlobe.

"We're not," he hissed back as Queen Stella upped the bid further. "Now shut up!"

He vaguely registered Lola folding her arms across her chest and adopting a look of sour disposition, but he was too flustered to care. If he did not play his cards right, he might wind up with an ugly vase, rather than the pile of money they sought.

"Three thousand," he called, thinking with nostalgia back to the days when he had been in possession of such money.

As he placed his bid, he could sense some murmuring erupting as to who this man was to go against Queen Stella in an auction. A great deal of shuffling of turning heads ensued; everyone wanting to take a peak at this newest noble to establish himself in Treno high society. He could barely make out the voices of the old ladies behind him, estimating his fortune. This was exactly the very purpose of going to the auction. Thing's were indeed going exactly as Dagger had predicted.

Thus they continued for a while, until he relented at last, making the Queen pay up ten thousand Gil. Scolding his features in folds of disappointment, the lady at his side enhancing the air of bitterness, he breathed a sigh of relief; first stage accomplished.

Allowing herself a little smile of triumph, the woman rose, brushing away the nonexistent creases on her dress, and made for the exit. Zidane nudged his disgruntled companion and followed after her out into the streets.

Outside people parted for the Queen like the red sea, seemingly without effort. It was as if people moved through no fault of their own, granting her abundant place to walk. Zidane had no such luck, nor did his companion, who drew more people in, rather than dispersing the crowd. He grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her down towards where he'd last seen the tip of the Queen's salmon-coloured silken apparel disappear.

Though navigating through a throng of well dressed, overly perfumed nobles was not nearly as uncomfortable as with a hoard of filthy, unwashed street urchins, it was all the more dangerous. Were with the urchins the worst one could expect was a bit of dirt on ones clothing, or perhaps a missing money-pouch, with the nobles one was in constant danger of poking ones eye out. This years fashion apparently included the most ludicrous of headdresses, all with sharp edges and pointy feathers. The rest of the outfit was not harmless either; scabbards and daggers adorning the waist for show; pointy boots and sharp necklaces.

Within minutes Zidane was cut, scraped and bruised. As the string of curses left him after he received a rather painful blow to the stomach by a ladies shopping bag, he wowed never to venture into a hoard of nobles on the lookout for a sale again.

"Pardon!" a rather stout woman called after him, obviously offended by the slight shove he'd given her in order to get past her massive frame.

"I do not take well to being pushed around," she said, as the constant stream of people bustled past.

He would have loved nothing better than to drop a string of insults at the woman, but now Stella was nearing their designated meeting place, and if he did not find some way of parting the hoard, the Game would be lost.

As this contemplation struck him, and the snake of panic began to unfurl in his stomach, hissing menacingly, the crowd parted as by magic.

There was no visible bolt of light or eruption of sparks as often followed a spell, but there must assuredly be some unearthly force that parted this greedy pack and opened the passage.

He would certainly have liked to contemplate this some more, but he had been granted a gift and could ill-afford to squander it. Perhaps it was Dagger's handiwork, and in that case she would be infuriated should he linger and miss his shot.

Pelting down the street, he rounded the corner beyond the weapon shop. There was a passage that led up to the slums, though of course Stella would not know this, never walking beyond her designated path. She strolled casually along, dress trailing the dust, no doubt ruining the hem. She took no notice of the world around, but was perhaps in stead lost in deliberation over her new treasure.

It was a pity, for her at least, that she did not. As she passed the junction to the lowtown, two hooded men jumped out in front of her, seizing hold of her arms.

Zidane, still too far away, could do naught but curse his ill fortune as the men pulled the Queen down the alley, kicking and screaming as she went.

There were no reaching her now.


	6. Surveillance

Chapter Six – Surveillance

I

On the smooth, clean cobbles, at the bottom of a staircase with the towering dome of granite above, Jules had claimed he would stand there, on that spot. The whole night through, if that was what it would take. And a beautiful night it was, as was only usual in Treno. Yet sadly, the pleasant, alluring smells and gentle chatter proved to be too calming for the hardened criminal. Used to barroom brawls, street fights or other, ever pettier night-time activities, the dull atmosphere proved lethargic, and within the hour he was fast asleep.

It was peculiar how a street corner in this, the wealthy part of Treno, could be so much safer, then the best of apartments in lowtown. Cobbles were certainly not as comfortable as a bed; it was rather cold outside after all. But then one did not have to worry about burglars or worse. Jules had therefore slept soundly. Until morning came, and he was awoken in the most unpleasant way imaginable.

The tip of the boot that woke him, blurred inn and out of focus as its owner kept kicking him methodically, repeatedly in the gut. A feeble and callused hand shot up to ward of the boot, trying to soften the blow.

"Ah, so you are awake now," a melodious, though unmistakably icy voice said as it escaped from him a low groan of malcontent.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of a dirty hand, he opened them to find an orange-clad leg mere centimetres away from his face. For the first time – never having been that close to her before – he made note of the dust embedded into the fine fabric of her trousers. Both unwashed and threadbare.

"What do ye think yer doin', woman?"

His voice was gruff and weak, but the kicking seized, the leg remaining still. Jules seized this golden opportunity to let his gaze wander further up her leg, to her face towering high above him, the luminous stars as a mere backdrop to her formidable presence. And yet, was there not something slightly worn about her. The droop of her shoulders, the tattered state of her clothes. He'd always presumed her to be unflappable, but something about the woman seemed decidedly dejected this morn. His curiosity stirring, Jules was suddenly wide awake.

Pushing himself up on his arms, he looked around, making sure they were alone and unseen.

"What's the time?" he asked, face bobbing from this side to that.

"Almost noon. Where's Aue?"

"At the flat. He should be comin' round here soon enough."

It would seem the woman – Sara, was it? – had an objection to this as well, but he did not catch what she said, as he hauled himself up on his feet, head spinning slightly on account of a blooming hangover. Falling asleep had not been his first mistake last night.

Stumbling a little, he grabbed Sara's shoulder for support. She brushed it off with ease, a look of disgust on her face, wrinkling her nose at the smell of him. This was one of the many reasons he didn't like women; their reproachful reticence at any male habit, or rather, bad habit. She chose not to comment on it however, and went straight to the point.

"Come, you must proceed to the meting-point."

"Aue has our stuff."

She sighed, disgust morphing into exasperation.

"If he's not here within five minutes, you will just have to proceed without him."

With that final command she turned and left him, slipping into the great throng of people bustling past close by.

Jules was just contemplating what she meant, but was saved from actually going through with it, with Aue bounding round the corner where Sara had just left him.

His face was gleaming with sweat, his cheeks a greyish hue of stubble. On his back he carried his leather pouch, from where last night's quarry could be seen sticking up.

"Where've you been?" he asked, grabbing the other man's arm and steering him down the alley opposite of where he'd had just arrived. "You were supposed to be here half and hour ago to wake me."

The brick's of the buildings around had taken on a bright green colour, the dampness and mud making a perfect environment for all sorts of fungi. Further up, everything was in the customary brownish shades. Jules and Aue could hardly be spotted in the darkness, their clothes bearing a striking resemblance to the walls all around. Thus they progressed, almost unseen, through the streets of Treno's lowtown.

"Sorry," Aue muttered sheepishly. "Sally made more of a fuss than expected. But she's with 'im now. Don't really see why you had to stand guard though."

"It's that insane woman," Jules fumed, steering them around yet another corner. "Need's to control everything, she does. Well, we'll just have to show 'er."

Aue grunted in agreement, pulling his satchel into better place. It's content's clattered noisily within as if laying extra meaning to Jules threat.

While pacing leisurely down the street, slowly meandering closer to their destination and task, feeling the noon-time bustle of people and cold breeze of the eternally lack of sun, Jules' alcohol-addled brain caught up at last at a comment Aue had offered.

"You said Sally was reluctant to take the job?"

"Well," Aue muttered, readjusting the satchel yet again. "Not reluctant exactly. More... annoyed."

"But she knows what she's got to do, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not that stupid. And neither is she. Don't ye worry."

"So she knows what it is she's gotta do?"

Aue nodded, though somewhat hesitantly. Their friendship being of long standing, Jules had no trouble sensing when his friend was on the fence about something.

"What is it man? Spit it out."

Looking from side to side in a manner that was sure to invite curious ears, Aue deemed it safe to speak.

"I'm not so sure 'bout this plan, Jules."

His drawn face was even more apprehensive then usual, as though he knew what was coming.

"It's just, I'm not sure this Dagonet is gonna be interested," he hurried on explaining himself, before Jules could speak. "He and Sara seemed to be... tight."

Jules snorted in derision, over lip curling up, exposing a set of brown teeth in a rather hostile manner.

"You really think the Ice Queen is capable of that? Besides, you were there when she introduced us. He could barely keep his eyes away from 'er. Sally, I mean."

Aue mumbled something inaudible in response, and pressed on towards their destination. The clock tower chimed yet again; the hour passed, irreversible. It was time they took their places. At the end of the alley, the main street stretched out before them, much resembling a river of people. Standing in this dark and seedy alley, the contrast was made more striking then ever.

As the last chime of the clock died away, the stream of people suddenly seemed to pick up their pace, as if this, the last tone reverberating through the night, was the sign they'd all been waiting for. In a way it was; at twelve o'clock, the doors to the auction house would open, the antiquing could commence.

In a way, Jules reflected while standing propped up against the dusty wall of a butcher-shop, this was even more grotesque than the usual sort of hostility he was used to. The mad faces, contorted by greed. They ridiculous clothing, their complete disregard for anyone who was not "someone". No, Jules would not want to be a noble, even should he have the title and property offered him for free. Well, perhaps he would, but he would take care never to mingle with this lot.

Much in the same way as Queen Stella, he considered himself a cut above the company. Though for slightly different reasons. The woman in question happened to pass by just at that moment, making her way to the auction as predicted. She did not spot them, but brushed past, rustling the hem of her dress.

"Have you brought the hoods?" he asked.

Aue pulled up to pieces of black cloth from within his satchel.

"Good. Though we will not wear them quite yet."

"Right."

Aue put them back, and they both rearranged themselves in more comfortable positions, making ready for a long wait. Who only knew how long Stella would stay. As it where, they would probably hold the auction-house open just on her account, even if it was Lord King that owned it.

As Aue propped himself up against the wall, he summoned the courage to resume their discussion.

"You honestly think there's not the slightest chance Sara and Dagonet might be an item?"

"An _item_?"

'Honestly, were did the man get such expressions from?' Jules speculated.

"No, I do not think they're an _item_. And besides, even if they were, it's noting Sally wouldn't be able to break up."

"I don't know..." Aue countered, fingering the blade of the hatchet he'd placed between his legs. "They do seem pretty tight..."

"He's her pawn. Just like us. Relax will you. Sally will get us the information. And if not... well, just havin' someone with them later on will be valuable."

They could have discussed this for quite some time, but Aue was tired and Jules' hangover did not seem to abate. They instead resorted to a suspenseful sort of silence, both equally unconvinced by the other's argument.

II

The feel of drifting, the overwhelming lack of control, was one that could not be ignored. She had the whole day before her now, she might spend it as she whished. But then there were the auction, and the mugging. The whole day laid out with schemes. Her schemes. And now they were completely out of her control. It was such an exhausting enterprise, this Confidence-business. For that is what it required – confidence. So much relied on other people. In that sense, her position much resembled that of a Queen. Though not as glamorous by far.

She now sat perched at a table at the Cafe Carta. The waiter had been reluctant in letting her sit, demanding to see her Gil before he would let her order. It was not surprising; she was a far cry from the princess she'd once been. But the humiliation she could live with, for though pretentious, this place offered a prime view. From here she could keep an eye on the Queen Stella's property, the main street and the auction house. She could even spot the junction leading down to the lowtown. But that place would remain empty for another hour. At least. And so, there was nothing to do but wait.

She had half expected Cullyn to pop up and take the table next to her, if only to remind her that they, whoever they were, were always watching her. But there were no trace of him. And, she reflected while sipping her violet-water, as she sat here, thinking on him now, she proved that such surveillance was indeed not necessary. She felt watched wherever she went.

Jules had fallen asleep, and maybe Aue didn't show. And perhaps Zidane would take wrong of the time or something. She had an overwhelming sense that something was bound to go wrong, brought on by the strain of feeling constantly watched.

Zidane would have told her to relax, to enjoy life more. Certainly he was right. It was a beautiful day at any rate. Her drink was tasty, the atmosphere light and relaxed. In many ways, this could be construed as a wonderful moment; the excitement of a game, the prize; having Vivi up and about again and being able to resume their travels and go to Memorian as intended. Then, if they succeeded all this, the drink in her hand, the dirty clothes on her back, the blinking lanterns of the Cafe Carta might have been a dream. If not, this could be one of the last peaceful moments of her life.

But such maudlin thoughts did not suit her. She needed focus now. And was that not Zidane, portraying the character of Tonerre strolling up the main street. He really was unrecognizable from his old self. In that at least she had succeeded. Ginger wig plastered to his forehead, she could see the sweat gleaming in his puffy features all the way from where she was sitting.

But the moment she finally allowed herself to relax back in her chair, she caught glimpse of another detail of his disguise; a woman. There was a moment when her mind stood still, a stillness brought on by disbelief. Her hand clutched the class, coldness seeping into her skin. And with that the world was suddenly moving again.

A woman. She had expressly decided against this. Tonerre was supposed to be a bachelor. But there she was, as undeniable as his ginger hair. Had he gone against her, decided this would be better? Or was it the work of Cullyn, procuring eyes and ears in every part of the operation?

The two of them made their way up the street, vanishing in the crowd. Then there was only waiting left.

On the table next to her, two noblewomen sat down, scattering their shopping bags around the table much like a child playing fort. Squeezing their generous frames into the chairs, the feathers of their hats almost interfering with the marquee, the waiter was at their side at once.

What if they knew, the two women ordering their drinks, that all this might be gone soon? That their life now was in the hands of a rag-tag little band lead by a thief. No, surely they would not approve.

She smirked a little, draining her glass. How fortunate that she had met Zidane when she had. Or else it might have been her slight frame sitting at the other table, marvelling at the trenatian architecture.

She contemplated this and other things, watching the lanterns soft glow, and the bustle of people. Carried away by her thoughts, time flew past. Soon the hour had gone and the auction-house doors opened.

Queen Stella, impeccably dressed, untouched by anything, parted the crowd with her mere presence. They all moved to the side, making her easy to watch. But where was Zidane? He was not visible in the sea of people. The Queen was walking quickly, growing ever closer to the junction, but Zidane did not seem able to follow.

'There, this is where it will all go wrong.' She knew it, she could feel it as keenly as if it had already happened. Perhaps it was just nerves, but she could not bare to watch the whole plan disintegrate before her. And yet, she could not make herself look away.

Stella moved with great haste, looking neither here nor there, but straight forward. She did not notice the two hooded men jumping out into her path until she was attacked. They pulled her into the alleyway, Zidane still nowhere close.

With her heart hammering almost painfully in her chest, as though it wished to abandon it's home in her chest, she made herself look; Zidane was still too far away.

III

The hood was smelly, it's fabric ruff and itchy even against Jules' bearded and weather-beaten face. Inching a finger under its collar, he scratched his neck absentmindedly, twirling his sword around. It was lucky no one decided to pass their ally at that moment, because Jules had very little control of his weapon.

He held a secret admiration towards Aue and his seemingly effortless way with the hatchets he carried in each hand. Despite their longstanding friendship, Jules did not know how he'd come to possess such a skill, and Aue had never told. But it was handy all the same.

They edged up against the corner, weapons at the ready. It would look utterly absurd if any passerby would happen to look down this alley. As it happened, it was perfectly situated, too dark to see much. But should someone happen to shine a torch down the ally, it was not the sight of the usual criminal that would meet them. Usual criminals would not carry such weapons. Nor would they stand in mask, waiting. They had not been told why the weapons were necessary, but Sara had insisted upon it. It seemed a bagatelle, compared to the next stage of the plan. And there, at least, they had an inn, Sally reporting every detail directly to them. And also, if Jules were right, might turn this game in their favour, creating cracks between the other two.

Arms shacking from the strain, sweat gathering in every pore of his skin, he allowed himself a slight respite, leaning against the wall. Dust gathering with sweat, they created a slimy mask that plastered against his every bare bit of skin.

"What's the time," he grunted, as the heat rose from inside the mask.

"I don't know," Aue hissed back. "She'll probably be here soon though."

"How can you possibly know that?"

Long waits tended to get Jules tetchy, and the heat got the better of him now.

Aue shrugged, but otherwise refrained from answering. He too allowed himself a more relaxed position, while scratching his forehead with the edge of one hatchet.

"We'll know once the clock chimes."

"You don't say."

It would perhaps have been better for them both to remain silent. No good could come of a conversation held when they were both in such fragile mental states. But they were both starved of activity.

"What if she takes another route home?" Jules could not help but speculate.

"Give 'er a little credit. She is in league with the Dismas after all."

"We've never had any proof of that," Jules interjected. All they had based this decision on was the woman's allusions.

"She's not as stupid as trying to get away with a Confidence Game right under the Dismas' nose. Not after the rebellion he staged," Aue offered with his usual levelheadedness, while hitting the blade softly against his boot-tip.

"She might not have heard of it. She's not from here, you know," Jules said, defending his position with determination.

Aue snorted.

"What? And missed the whole massacre? How then, would she have know that she must proclaimed friendship with the Dismas before she could make anyone agree to join her?"

This was Aue's final blow, winning him the argument.

"Well," Jules said, trying the salvage what remained of his dignity, "if they really are partners, we're the once conspiring against the Dismas now."

"Right... Sally..." Aue mumbled pensively.

And as they both lost themselves in thoughts of the beautiful bar-made, the hem of a salmon-coloured dress became visible around the corner. In close succession came the figure of a woman clad form head to foot in this hideous colour, fabrics flying every which way, floating on the breeze.

Aue was the first to collect his wits, and nudged his partner painfully in the ribs. At the sight of the Queen his verbal reprimands died down.

With a series of hasty hand movements, they communicated between another in silence; the time for action had come.

Too surprised by the Queens sudden apparition, they were much too flustered to check if Zidane (or Dagonet as they called him) and Sally followed. If they had, they might have haltered their advance a few more seconds.

Stepping out into the main street, blocking the woman's path, they only had sight for the task in front of them.

At first she looked angry that someone might dare block her path. But soon the furrowed brows smoothed out in confusion as she took in the sight of the men.

"Excuse m-"

But Jules would allow her to speak no further. Grabbing her around the waist, his glove snagging her dress in the process, he pulled her close and clamped another hand over her mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror, arms clawing at his hand. Aue, ever the quick thinker, lifted his blade, letting it rest on her exposed throat. The message was clear; she must stand still, or else get killed.

The woman froze, letting herself be dragged into the alleyway, minutes before her rescuers could reach her.

**A/N:** It's been too long since the last update, sorry about that. My computer has collapsed, so I'm working on this from school, which gives me very little time. Consequently the chapter was a crappy one. I'll probably edit it once I get a new machine. But for now, I hope you enjoyed the update. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
